


Here Comes the Sun

by guardianoffun, imaginationtherapy



Series: Shameless [14]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: But mostly cuddles, Comfort, Discussion of Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endeavour Morse Whump, Everybody Lives, Guard Dog Jakes, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I'M FIXING IT, M/M, Mild Angst, Period-Typical Homophobia, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford, Post-whump that is, Protective Jakes, Protective Thursday, because who has time for homophobia, but like in passing, hugs galore!, psychological repercussions of injury, sequel to Stitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: Endeavour Morse is finally out of a coma, but still in hospital after being brutally beaten by Cole Matthews. Peter Jakes refuses to leave Morse's side until he's well again. Thursday and Bright try to mop up, and Fancy...Fancy has some hero-worship moments.Direct continuation ofStitches. I highly recommend you read that first, if you haven't already.





	1. Here Comes the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go!  
> This is just a little taste, an introduction of sorts. I had the need to write some cuddles and start gluing back the hearts I broke. 
> 
> Timeline: Direct continuation of _Stitches_

_Jakes’ eyes were closed, tears marking damp trails down his cheeks. He had no energy left, nothing left to give to Morse, no where else to turn. The sound of a soft inhale--a break in the shallow pattern that had been Morse’s breathing--froze him where he lay. He held his breath, unwilling to open his eyes and find that his mind had played a trick on him._

_And then he heard a halting whisper. It was ragged and low, but recognizable all the same._

_“Do not...stand at my grave...and weep...I am...not there...I do not...sleep.”_

_Jakes opened his eyes slowly, wondrously. A pair of stunning blue eyes stared back at him, filled with pain but very much alive and alert._

_“Peter,” Morse’s voice._

_“Dev?” Jakes whispered tentatively._

_Morse’s answering smile was the most precious gift that Jakes could have asked for._

* * *

Jakes lifted a shaking hand to caress Morse’s cheek. “My God, Dev, you’re...awake?” His voice sounded wobbly, full of far more emotion than he ever allowed. He didn’t care. Everything in the room faded to the back of his mind, and all Jakes could see was Morse’s blue eyes, all he could hear was the hitch in Morse’s breathing, all he could feel was the warmth of Morse’s skin beneath his fingertips. 

_Morse was alive._

“‘M here, Peter.” Morse leaned into his touch slightly, like a kitten seeking comfort. His eyes closed for a moment in contentment. Jakes, however, panicked at sudden loss of those blue eyes.

_No, don’t leave me! Come back!_

“Dev?” Jakes shoved himself upright on his good arm, his other hand sliding down to rest in the hollow of Morse’s neck, frantically checking for a pulse. 

Morse hissed as Jakes’ movement jostled the bed. His eyes flew open, focusing on Jakes. Jakes winced as Morse’s face twisted in pain and fear flashed into his eyes.

“Peter...what...wrong?” he bit out past clenched teeth. His breathing sped up, and Jakes could see panic in the jerky movement of his eyes as they searched the room.

_He doesn’t know where he is._

“Dev? Dev it’s okay.” Jakes cupped Morse’s cheek, gently turning his face so that Morse was looking at him again. “Dev, look at me.” Startled blue eyes met Jake’s dark ones, and Jakes forced himself to be calm.

_Morse was alive. Morse was safe. Morse was alive. _The litany ran through Jakes’ head at a full gallop, threatening to displace all rational thought. Jakes’ heart raced along side his thoughts, nervous energy making him twitchy. But Morse was also clearly afraid and confused. Jakes took a deep breath, focusing his energy. He needed to get Morse calm. Then, as much as he was loathe to let anyone touch Morse, he needed to get a nurse in here. Morse had been in pain long enough.__

“Dev, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Jakes murmured, gently rubbing his thumb on Morse’s cheek. He focused on the soft feel of Morse’s skin under this hands, the sight of Morse’s eyes--awake and alert--as they darted around the room. _God,_ he had thought he would never see those eyes again.

“Where’m I?” Morse whispered; fear laced his words.

“You’re in the hospital,” Jakes replied. “You’re safe. They’re...they’re all dead.” Jakes’ voice broke a bit as he tried to keep the memories at bay. _Morse is alive. _That was all that mattered right now. They could deal with the past once Morse was stronger. “No one is going to hurt you. I’m right here.”__

Morse stared at Jakes, his wide eyes too frightened and his shallow breathing too fast. He struggled to swallow.

“Safe…” Morse whispered, glancing around the room again. His eyes darted back to Jakes, raking over him hurriedly. They came to rest on the bandage around Jake’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.” 

Jakes felt Morse’s arm move beneath him, as if he were trying to grab hold of Jakes. Then Morse’s stiffened again in pain.

“Stay still, Dev.” Jakes hissed, laying a steadying hand on Morse’s shoulder. “I’m alright.” He paused, allowing a small grin to tug at his lips. “Fair sight better than you are.” Morse’s answering grin--albeit a small one-- made Jakes’ heart swell. 

“If this is...a hospital,” Morse rasped, a light tinge of arrogance in the halting words, “Why does it...hurt...so much?”

Jakes found that suddenly he couldn’t see very well. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Morse’s heart had stopped _three times._ Jakes had _lost_ his Morse, not once, but three times. Morse had been unresponsive for two days. But somehow, by some miracle, he was still _Morse._

“God, Dev.” Jakes closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You’re back.” 

“Peter…” 

Jakes’ eyes snapped open. Morse was staring at him, his gaze calmer but still pain-filled. _He needed a nurse._ Morse’s eyes searched Jakes’ face for a moment.

“I thought….they’d killed you.” 

Jakes let out a huff of air. It felt like the first time he had laughed in years. Trust Morse to be worried about someone else when he’d nearly been killed. 

“Dev, I’m fine alright.”

Morse’s eyebrows pulled together. “That’s my...line.” His lips curled in a ghost of a smile.

Jakes’ hand gently stroked Morse’s face again. “My Morse,” he whispered.

“Peter?” 

Jakes raised his eyebrows.

“Kiss me.”

Jakes eyes widened. “Dev?”

Morse swallowed again, wincing with the effort. “Thought...you died….you thought… I died.” His breathing hitched. “Kiss me. Please.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jakes wondered if he ought to be more concerned with actually getting a nurse or a doctor in the room. Maybe he should, but right now his Morse--the man he had almost lost--was staring at him with frightened, pained, and longing eyes. It was a combination Jakes refused to resist.

Jakes shifted a bit, lowering his balance so that he could bend over Morse without falling. He bent his head, lips tenderly seeking those of his lover. Morse kissed him back, weakly but with a longing that made Jakes sigh.

Jakes closed his eyes, resting his forehead on Morse’s.

“God, Dev. I missed you.”


	2. (It's Been a) Long Cold Lonely Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes has had enough of people keeping him away from Morse.
> 
> Alternatively, Guard Dog Jakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go!! :)  
> Also, keep an eye out for a small cameo from a previous (minor) character.

Jakes desperately sought a few moments of peace, there in that hospital bed. A few moments where the chaos and fear and pain of the last several hours faded into the background, lurking just beyond the beeping of the Morse’s heart monitor. A few moments where it was just him and Morse. Where he could breathe the same air as Morse, exist in the same space, and know that his Morse was safe, protected beneath him. Anything that came into this room would have to go through Peter Jakes to get to Morse. And Jakes had no intention of letting that happen. Not again. 

“I was so scared, Dev,” he whispered into the space between them. “I can’t do this without you.” He tipped his head, pressing another gentle kiss to Morse’s lips. “Please don’t leave me,” he murmured against Morse’s skin.

He heard Morse inhale, as if to respond. Then Morse stiffened, a pained gasp shattering the peaceful illusion had settled around them. The whimpering moan that followed stabbed into Jakes’ heart. He jerked away from Morse.

“Dev?” His hand hovered over Morse’s chest, panicked eyes searching Morse’s face. Morse’s eyes were squeezed shut. Pain had left its mark in deep lines across his pale forehead. The fear that had receded into the background came crashing back, hammering into Jakes with a force that left him breathless. Reality followed: his Morse was alive, but barely. And far from alright. “Dev, what’s wrong?”

“It hurts...Peter,” Morse whimpered. “Why...why’s it hurt...so much?”

_God, no pain medication._ Guilt lanced through Jakes, sharp and unforgiving. _How could he forget that Morse was in pain?_

“Oh God, Dev. I’m so sorry.” Jakes fumbled with the blanket he had thrown over them. He had to get a nurse.

“Peter?” Morse’s tone changed, sharp fear overriding the muddling effects of the pain. Jakes paused, turning back to Morse. His eyes were wide, stark terror mixing with the overwhelming pain. “Where’re you...don’t go.”

Morse’s hand twitched beneath Jakes, as if seeking Jakes’ own hand. Jakes obliged, carefully laying his long fingers over bruised and broken ones. 

“I’ve got to get a nurse, Dev,” he replied, as calmly as he could. His own heart was racing, spurred on faster by the scurrying beat of Morse’s heart. Morse’s eyes darted around the room. He said nothing, but Jakes could read everything in his eyes. He was scared.

God, what Peter wanted to do to Cole Matthews. Even if Trewlove (bless her) had already gotten revenge, Peter wished he could get his hands on the bastard.

“Dev, I won’t leave the room, okay? I’ll….I’ll just go to the door. Then I’ll be right back.” Jakes bent closer to Morse, trying to bring the man’s attention back to him. 

Morse’s eyes snapped to Jakes’, then dropped to their hands. “‘m sorry,” he whispered.

“Dev? God, Dev, there’s nothing for you to be sorry _for._ ” Jakes drew in a shuddering breath, glancing briefly at the bruises and bandages on Morse. “You’ve been hurt...badly.”

Morse shook his head, wincing at the effort that it took. “No…’m sorry...’m scared, Peter.” Blue eyes, shining with tears, sought Jakes’ dark ones. The whisper that followed was so quiet, Jakes nearly missed it. “‘m scared.”

“Oh, my Dev,” Jakes whispered, bending low over Morse again. “Dev, it’s okay. You don’t, God, Dev, you’ve been so strong. It’s alright to be scared.” He paused, bringing his good hand up to gently stroke Morse’s face. “Don’t be sorry, luv.” Jakes kissed Morse’s forehead before straightening. His heart was breaking, knowing that he had to leave Morse when he was so vulnerable. But the man needed medical attention, _now._ “I’ll be right back. And then I won’t leave you again. I promise.” Just let those nurses _try_ to throw him out of the room.

Morse stared at him with wide eyes, but nodded minutely. He attempted a shaky breath, but broke off with another sharp gasp. He eyes fluttered closed for a moment until the spasm passed. Jakes waited until they opened again before slowly moving off the bed.

“I won’t leave the room, okay, Dev? I’m just going to the door.” He gently squeezed Morse’s arm. “No one’s going to hurt you, not anymore.”

Morse simply stared at him, eyes wide and breathing shallow and rapid. Jakes made his way to the door, somewhat shaky himself from fatigue and his own injuries. He peered outside, hoping to catch a wandering nurse. There was no way he was leaving Morse, terrorized as he was, to go in search of the nurses station. Not only would that cause Morse more distress, he ran the chance of someone keeping him out of the room when he returned. 

Relief washed over him when he caught sight of one of the night nurses patrolling the hall. She spotted him, hurrying over with a displeased frown. 

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed, Mr. Jakes. And your arm, get that back in its sling!” She moved as if to adjust the sling, but Jakes jerked away from her. He had no time for this.

“Endeavour woke up. Morse. He’s awake. And in pain. He needs help, _now._ ” The words tumbled out with little semblance of order or politeness. Jakes could feel Morse’s eyes on him and hear the rapid beeping of the heart monitor. _Too high._

More than that, he could feel his own anxiety climbing. He needed to be next to Morse. Phantoms lurked in the shadows behind him, threatening to steal Morse away while Jakes’ back was turned. He could feel their fingers crawling up his own spine, leaving icy prints in their wake.

The nurse gasped, pushing past him slightly to see into the room. She glanced back at Jakes as she retreated.

“I’ll get the others.”

Jakes didn’t bother to watch her leave. He turned and fled back to Morse’s side. Morse’s eyes were still locked on him, lips pressed into a bloodless--almost blue-- line. Jakes didn’t know much about medicine, but he knew quite well that Morse was breathing too quickly and too shallowly. And he was _trembling._

Jakes perched himself on the edge of the bed, his good arm moving swiftly to Morse’s shoulder.

“Shhh, Dev, it’s alright. I’m back,” Jakes murmured. “Breathe, Dev. Can you breathe for me? Slowly?”

Morse’s head rocked to the side; a very slight _no._ “Scared, Peter...you left”

Jakes kissed Morse’s forehead gently. “I know, Dev. It’s alright, I'm back now. Just...here, breathe with me, okay?” Jakes hovered over Morse once again, gently resting his forehead on Morse’s. He concentrated on breathing slowly, though shallow enough to not irritate Morse’s ribs. Having something to focus on seemed to help; color had returned to Morse’s lips within a few moments. 

Jakes pulled back, wanting to tell Morse that the nurses were on their way. Before he could so much as draw a breath, however, the door to the room banged open. Morse recoiled from the noise, and Jakes cursed. 

“Peter?” Morse whispered. He stared at the nurses, but Jakes was certain Morse was seeing different faces approaching. Cruel faces.

Jakes bent over Morse, trying to block his view of the approaching nurses. _Take the hint,_ he thought fiercely. _Slow down._

“Dev? Dev, it’s okay. It’s the nurses. They...they need to look you over.”

Morse’s eyes focused on Jakes for a moment, before flicking over his shoulder and to the room beyond. “Don’t...Peter...don’t let them….don’t leave me.” His breathing had sped up again. Jakes winced at the rapid beeping of the monitor.

“Sir?” one of the nurses approached Jakes. He ignored her, all of his attention focused on Morse. He had to get him calmed down. She laid a hand on his arm, and Jakes twisted away from her. “Sir, we need to check him over. We need you to leave.”

“No!” Morse shrieked, loud and nearly violent in his terror. “No, no, no...please, Peter...don’t...don’t leave me.” His eyes darted between Jakes and the nurses. 

A nurse approached him from the right, and Morse flinched away. He attempted to curl into Jakes, gasping as his ribs protested strenuously. The nurse raised her hands, in a gesture that Jakes knew was meant to be comforting. It only served to exacerbate Morse’s panic; the last time someone had raised their hands to him, it had ended in painful blows.

“Stay...stay away….please, don’t...don’t hurt me…” Morse whimpered, turning his face towards Jakes.

Jakes leaned over Morse, shielding him with an outstretched arm. He glared at the approaching nurse, and something inside him snapped. He was exhausted and hurting in more ways than one. His shoulder throbbed and his own bruised ribs protested at his every move. His heart ached with the trauma of all that had transpired in the last several days. And now they were trying to chase him away from Morse, terrorizing Morse despite their best intentions. Jakes had had enough, and he felt himself harden into the Detective Sergeant he had once been--could still be, if the need arose. His eyebrows drew together, as his lips curled into a sneer. 

“Stop!” The sharp anger and blunt authority froze the room. Morse whimpered beneath him, thin frame trembling violently. “Are you bloody _insane?_ This man was _beaten._ He’s terrified. And you come tearing in here, banging about like a herd of elephants.” Jakes saw the look the nurses gave one another-- _do we call security?_ \--and he scoffed. Let them try. Thursday would have their jobs, come morning. “This is how it’s going to work, so listen well. _I’m not leaving._ He’s responding to me. I’m staying right here, where he can see me. Alright?” More surreptitious looks, but at least they were listening. “You give me a minute to talk to him, then come in _slowly._ And for God’s sake, tell him what you’re doing before you do it.” Jakes waited a moment, glaring at each of them in turn. When no one moved, he turned back to Morse.

Jakes relaxed his posture, bringing his hand down to gently rub Morse’s arm. He bent his head low, so that he could whisper in Morse’s ear. “Dev? Luv? It’s alright. It’s just the nurses.”

Morse was still trembling, his face turned away from the nurses and his eyes squeezed shut. He whimpered, but didn’t move.

Jakes kept stroking Morse’s arm. “They need to look you over, Dev. You’ve been unconscious for a while.” Jakes brought his hand up to caress Morse’s face, hoping the nurses weren’t paying too close attention. “Once they know you’re okay, they’ll give you something for the pain.” Morse opened his eyes cautiously, staring up at Jakes. Jakes felt tears sting his eyes at the look on Morse’s face. He looked so much like he had when he’d come back after his father died--broken, shell-shocked, and afraid. _Young._ \

“Dev? I’m not going to leave you. I promise. Do you believe me?” Morse nodded, slightly. He glanced over Jakes’ shoulder warily. “I can’t...Dev, I can’t stand to see you in this pain. Can you...can you let the nurses look over you? I’ll be right here, where you can see me. Please, Dev? For me?”

>Morse swallowed, wincing as the motion scraped his bruised throat. “‘m sorry...Peter.”

_God help them,_ but he actually sounded sorry. Sorry for the way his body was trying to protect him from harm. Sorry for being afraid, when he’d been so bloody brave. Sorry for being _weak_ when truly, he was the strongest person Jakes knew. 

“Endeavour Morse,” Jakes whispered firmly, but kindly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You...God, Dev, what you’ve been through--you’re incredible. Just...it’s okay to be afraid. Trust me, okay? I’ve got you.”

Everything in Jakes screamed at him to kiss Morse. It was one of the few ways he’d found to win arguments with Morse, or get him to bloody listen to reason. Something in the intimacy of a kiss seemed to short-circuit Morse’s brain, to stop the incessant stream of theories and self-doubts that rattled about. But he couldn’t, not in front of the nurses. They would _definitely_ call security, if they weren’t suspicious already. He just had to hope Morse would listen for once.

A weary smile tugged at the corner of Morse’s lips. His eyes closed as he nodded his head slightly. 

“Trust you,” Morse murmured. “Don’t...leave.”

Jakes smiled back, waiting until Morse’s eyes had opened again to speak. “I won’t, Dev. I promise.”

* * *

They got through the seemingly endless tests somehow, though Morse remained on the edge of panic the entire time. The nurses were clearly unhappy with Jakes’ presence, but didn’t try to force him out again. Morse complied with their requests, so long as Jakes had one hand on him at all times. They’d tried to make Jakes stand at one end of the bed at one point, and Morse had become combative. They didn’t make that mistake again.

By the time the nurses declared that Morse could handle the hefty dose of medication that he clearly needed, Jakes was nearly ill with concern. Morse was never very good at concealing his pain, and Jakes had become an expert at reading between the bits and pieces that Morse deigned to show. Watching the vicious play of apprehension and agony on Morse’s face had frayed Jakes’ nerves far beyond their limit. He didn’t bother to protest when one of the nurses brought him a few pills and a cup of water.

“You’re looking a bit ill yourself, Mr. Jakes.” Her skilled fingers worked to readjust his neglected sling. When she finished, she pulled back, considering. After a few moments--when the others had moved a bit farther away-- she leaned in closer. “I’ll be back, once everyone else has gone. You’d best get some rest, but I know you two would rather be next to one another. I’ll move the bed a bit closer.”

Jakes stiffened. _She knew._

She smiled gently. “Don’t worry, luv. You’re safe with me. Edith told me once, to take care of anyone I could, who crossed my path.” She patted Jakes’ shoulder. “It’s the least I can do.”

She did return, less than five minutes after the others had left. Jakes tried to help her, but she motioned him back to Morse.

“That one needs you, more than me and this bed do, luv. Look after him.”

Jakes gingerly perched on the side of Morse’s bed again, wrapping his fingers around Morse’s still-bandaged wrists. Morse’s eyes were barely open, the medication slowly beginning to dull the fire in his bones. Jakes felt his own pulse slowing as he took in the peaceful expression on Morse’s face.

“I’ll be right next to you, tonight, Dev. You’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you.” Morse’s words were slurred and quiet. “Thank you...for staying…” Morse took a breath, and relief washed over Jakes at the lack of tension in Morse’s shoulders as he breathed. “I...I need you...Peter.”

Jakes felt something warm blossom within his chest. It wasn’t the admission of being needed--Jakes knew quite well how much Morse needed him, both figuratively and literally (he was the only reason the skinny bastard ever ate, anyhow). It was the simple fact that Morse was willing to admit it--to reach out and _ask_ for help. Jakes had been trying for so long--and Thursday even longer-- to get Morse to just bloody _say_ something when he was hurting. So many times Jakes had reached for Morse, when the nightmares came calling or a case was too much. Morse was always there, waiting to wrap his long arms around Jakes and soothe away his cares. Jakes longed to be able to return the favor for Morse.

Maybe he finally could. 

He reached up, brushing back those precious few strands of copper hair. _When would he get to run his fingers through the rest of those curls?_ “It’s about time you admitted it, Morse,” Jakes teased. 

Morse let out a soft huff of laughter, and Jakes thought it was a beautiful sound. “Arrogant,” he whispered, a faint trace of his usual fire in the word.

Jakes chuckled quietly.

A light touch to his shoulder reminded him that they weren’t alone. The nurse stood behind him, smiling. 

“Your bed is ready, Mr. Jakes.” She nodded her head at Morse. “You let that boy rest, you hear? And you get some rest yourself. You both have quite a long way to go.” She paused, her eyes growing thoughtful. “Don’t take each other for granted. Ever.” Then she was gone. 

Jakes turned back to Morse. “You need to sleep, Dev.”

Morse’s eyes drifted closed. “Don’t like...doing what I’m...told.”

Jakes laughed again. “God, Dev, I missed your sass.” He kissed Morse lightly on the forehead. “But I’ll deny that, if anyone asks.”

As an answer, Morse tilted his head back, eyes fluttering open. “I won’t tell...if you kiss me...goodnight.”

Jakes obliged.

* * *

Jakes knew he should have gone to bed as soon as Morse had fallen asleep. The pills the nurse had given him had dulled the throbbing pain in his shoulder, and threatened to pull him into the peace of sleep. But he had to sit for a while longer, watching Morse sleep. 

It was something he often did, when they were at home. He’d sometimes wake in the night, or crawl into bed after Morse. He loved to just lay there and watch Morse sleep. It did him good, seeing Morse comfortable and at peace. So often the man ran himself ragged, even now that Jakes tried to look after him. At night, he was calm, almost angelic in the pale light that filtered through their window.

Of course, he looked far from angelic now. Too many bruises and cuts still decorated his face. Yet as Jakes watched him, he knew he was staring at a miracle. Morse should have died-- _did_ die--but there he lay, sleeping (mostly) peacefully. A slight wrinkle in his forehead betrayed the edges of the pain that wouldn’t completely go away for a while. Jakes rejoiced in that small anomaly. It meant that Morse _slept._ He was not drifting somewhere in that awful nothingness. Morse would wake tomorrow, and Jakes would be there when he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you find her? :) I really should name the poor woman. I can't keep referring to her by her girlfriend...
> 
> Sorry about the rather angsty-chapter. I'm attempting a realistic look at the healing process, coupling some solid comfort with the roller coaster that Morse will be (and Jakes tbh) as he tries to heal emotionally and physically from this.
> 
> More to come, hopefully soon! Thank you again for your lovely comments! I've got one more week of school to survive and then FREEDOM.


	3. It's All Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dash of angst, a healthy helping of comfort, and a slice of *raises eyebrows*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been typing for five hours. Whoops.
> 
> This is a RIDE.

Morse had come out of his coma two days ago, and had spent most of the intervening time asleep. The doctor kept him on a high dose of medication, in an effort to keep him comfortable as his body healed from the violence done to it. As a result, Morse had been groggy whenever he awoke, his words slurred and memory foggy.

Jakes spent the time watching over Morse. He rarely left Morse’s side, watching everyone who came and went from the room with sharp eyes. Jakes continued presence was as much for Morse’s sake as it was for his own sanity. In his morphine-induced haze, Morse never seemed able to recall exactly _why_ he was in hospital. It was clear, however, that he knew someone had put him there. He still flinched from the nurses, eyes roaming the room as if searching for the source of his fear. Only Jakes could keep him calm, and the nurses had finally learned to let Jakes explain their presence to Morse.

For his part, Jakes was grateful for Morse’s lack of memories. His own mind continued to supply unwanted images of those tortuous fifteen minutes. Jakes had never imagined that such a short amount of time could leave him with such terrifying memories. The only solace he could find came from watching Morse--alive, safe, and healing--sleep. Jakes spent his hours curled beside Morse on the small hospital bed, fingers constantly drawing patterns on the few unmarked patches of skin that he could find. The motion calmed him, and helped to ground Morse when he woke up. Once the bandages on Morse’s head had been replaced, and reduced, Jakes had allowed himself to stroke his fingers through the coppery curls he loved so dearly. 

Nurse Howard-- _call me Brenda, please_ apparently held some clout in the hospital. She somehow managed to arrange a steady rotation of nurses who didn’t bat an eye at the sight of two men holding hands. A sympathetic nurse always seemed to precede any doctor’s visits, allowing Jakes to assume a more casual position. Jakes made himself a mental note to send some flowers to nurse Brenda and her “best friend” Edith; they deserved it.

That morning, the doctor had decided to reduce Morse’s dosage a bit. Jakes had been quick to question the decision, but the doctor insisted it was necessary. Morse’s body needed to continue healing, and the morphine would only slow the process down. 

So it was that Jakes found himself propped up next to a conscious, but suspiciously silent Endeavour Morse. Morse had woken up a good half hour ago, but had lapsed into a pensive silence. Jakes didn’t want to pry, but he watched Morse’s face closely. The memories would return eventually, and Jakes was afraid of what they would do to Morse when they did.

“Peter?” Morse’s weak voice finally broke the silence. The rough hoarseness in the sound made Jakes wince.

Jakes shifted so that he could see Morse’s face easier. “What’s wrong, Dev?”

Morse stared at him silently, a solemn expression in his eyes. His right hand came to rest on Jakes’ knee, and Jakes tried to ignore the still-splinted fingers.

“Are you alright?”

That was not what Jakes had been expecting. “What?”

Morse’s thumb stroked Jakes’ knee absentmindedly. “Are you alright?” he repeated, looking no less serious.

“I’m...Dev, I’m fine. My shoulder’s healing perfectly fine.” Jakes’ narrowed his eyes. “Why are you worrying about me?”

Morse shook his head. “No. I mean…” his eyes flicked away, searching the wall beyond Jakes’ shoulder. “You had to...they made you...they made you watch. Me. And Cole.” When Morse’s eyes met Jakes again, they were bright with tears. “Are you...are you okay? From that.”

Jakes inhaled sharply, as an image suddenly slammed into him. 

_Morse, on the ground, clutching his broken arm to his chest. Cole’s foot, slamming into Morse’s back. Morse crying out, arching back against the pain. Cole’s leering face as he none-too-gently prodded Morse’s broken arm with the bloodied poker. The sound of his own screams, begging Cole to leave Morse alone. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness._

“Peter?” Morse’s worried voice snapped Jakes back to the present.

Jakes leaned forward, running a shaking hand through russet curls. _Morse was here._ He was safe, and he was here. 

Jakes was tempted to lie. _I’m fine_ lay just beyond his closed lips. But what good would that do? Save his pride? He’d left _pride_ somewhere in that godforsaken room. Reassure Morse? The man was a detective, and a bloody good one. He would see right through that lie. In fact, Jakes was almost certain that if he brushed off Morse’s concern this time, he would lose any chance at getting Morse to talk about his own trauma. Morse didn’t need _another_ reason to pretend everything was _fine._

He took a deep breath, hand coming to rest on the side of Morse’s face. “No, Dev.” He swallowed hard, trying to blink back his own tears. “I’m not.” Morse opened his mouth, but Jakes shushed him with a gentle thumb on Morse’s lips. The last thing Morse needed to be doing right now was trying to solve Jakes’ problems--probably by pretending that he was fine, that he wasn’t hurting and afraid. In a way, that would only hurt Jakes more. He wanted-- no, he _needed_ \-- Morse to allow him in. Jakes knew his own healing lay in bringing Morse back from the dead, helping him heal, and making up for what he couldn’t protect Morse from that awful day. Once he was certain Morse was going to stay quiet, Jakes ran his fingers through Morse’s curls again. He took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

“I couldn’t do anything to help you, Dev,” he started, voice shaking. “I wanted to...God, Dev, what I would have given to take those blows for you. Watching...watching him take you from me, bit by bit...it was like I could feel you slipping away. I think...I’m not sure I ever realized...how much you mean to me, how much...how much you keep me going, every day.” Jakes took a shaky breath, swiping his hand across his eyes to rid himself of unshed tears. 

Morse watched him intently, eyes searching Jakes’ face. He looked as if he was listening--really listening, not just deciding what he would say next. Jakes let his hand continue its soothing path through the peaceful field that was Morse’s hair. He let the soft texture soothe him, remind him that his worst fears had come to pass.

“I felt like I was dying,” he murmured, when he felt he could continue. “Like I was losing...God, Dev, you’re the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.” Morse’s eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know if I’ve ever really told you that. Don’t...don’t ever doubt that, Dev. I need you. So much….I didn’t...I didn’t want to walk out of there, if you weren’t with me.” Morse looked like he wanted to protest, but Jakes ploughed on. He needed to say this, to get it off of his chest. He needed to make Morse understand. “I went in there, knowing I probably wouldn’t make it out. But if they had taken you from me...there wasn’t a reason to keep going, Dev.”

Jakes bent down, then, pressing a chaste kiss to Morse’s lips. He pulled back, just far enough to be able to look Morse in the eyes. “Please don’t shut me out.” Jakes searched Morse’s face, trying to communicate his sincerity. “You went through so much, and I know you’re afraid.” He smiled at the faint affronted look Morse gave him. “And it’s okay. I was terrified, Dev. Still am, really. I don’t even trust the damn doctors when they come in here. I couldn’t help you, then. That day. Let me help you, now.” He paused, hand stilling on Morse’s forehead. “You asked if I’m alright? I’m not, and the only thing...the only way you can help me, is by letting me in. Don’t hide from me.”

Morse stared at Jakes silently, and Jakes desperately wished he knew what was going through his mind. Before Jakes could process what was happening, Morse surged up. Rough, healing lips captured Jakes’, and time stilled. Jakes slipped his hand behind Morse’s neck, supporting him and holding him close. 

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Morse pulled back with a sigh. Jakes gently lowered him back to the bed, smoothing back a few wayward curls. Morse gave Jakes a tired smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thank you?” Jakes repeated.

“Parrot,” Morse teased weakly. “Thank you...for that.” Jakes felt Morse’s good--if two broken fingers and a nearly skinless wrist could be called _good_ \--hand sneak between them. Jakes clasped it tenderly in his own. “For being honest.”

Jakes stole a quick kiss from those lips he had missed so much. “Will you be honest with me?”

Uncertainty flashed through Morse’s eyes. He was afraid, Jakes knew. Afraid of being honest, afraid of being seen as _weak._ It had been a constant struggle throughout their relationship. Neither of them were particularly good at communicating, though Morse was perhaps the worst. Where Jakes resorted to sharp outbursts, Morse retreated to stubborn silences. Jakes lashed out, trying to damage who and whatever was around him. It attracted attention, and someone--Morse, usually-- would notice. 

If he was honest with himself, he lashed out _because_ he wanted to be notice. No one had noticed him, for the longest time; not at Blenheim, not before. Whether he was hurting or happy, no one cared and nobody came. When he had become an adult, capable of controlling his own life at long last, entered adulthood determined to attract the attention of whoever was around him.

Morse had internalized his own trauma in a completely different way. Though he rarely talked of it, Jakes gathered that emotions had been frowned upon in Cyril Morse’s household. Morse’s silences allowed him to escape notice and, if Jakes guessed correctly, punishment. Whenever Jakes managed to guess at the reasons behind Morse’s self-imposed solitude, the younger man would literally curl into himself. Jakes often wondered if Cyril and Gwen’s dislike for the ungangly teenaged Endeavour had ever manifested physically. He didn’t dare ask. He simply gathered Morse in his arms, every time, doing his best to show Morse that there was nothing to fear here. Not with him.

Slowly, cautiously, Morse nodded. “I’ll...I’ll try.” His eyes drifted to their hands, a shy smile sneaking onto his face. 

A wave of affection washed over Jakes. It was a light and airy feeling, so completely opposite of the desperate emotion that had governed every waking moment for the past week that Jakes nearly collapsed. Instead, he leaned forward and pecked Morse on the nose.

Morse sputtered, the look on his face a mixture of indignant embarrassment and shy pleasure that Jakes loved. It was an expression that only Jakes ever got to see, and that made it all the more precious to him. Knowing that there were things he could coax from Morse--some a good bit more...well, _adult_ \--that no one else would ever discover, it was one of the greatest joys of Jakes’ life. 

He decided Morse deserved another kiss, just for that expression. And maybe two more, for good measure.

When he finally pulled back, Morse’s expression had relaxed. The worried, haunted expression had given way to something softer. He wasn’t fine--probably wouldn’t be for a while-- but for now, he was safe. And that was all Jakes could ask for. 

Jakes ran his fingers through Morse’s hair again. “We’ll have to talk about all of this, sometime, Dev. Neither of us can hide from it. But not now. You’re not strong enough for all of this, Dev.” He paused, unable to stop himself from stealing yet another kiss. _It had been too long._ Too many hours of wondering if he’d ever be able to wrap Morse in his arms again. Too many hours of wondering if those lips would grow cold and unresponsive before he had a chance to kiss them again. Too many nightmares of sleeping alone in his bed once again. 

He meant it to be a quick peck. Morse was injured, for God’s sake, and so was he. Neither of them had any business fooling around in the bloody hospital. He hadn’t counted on Morse’s opinion in the matter.

Morse moaned softly at the contact, his lips parting slightly. The temptation was too much for Jakes. He pressed his hand into the bed, shifting his weight so that he could deepen the kiss. _It had been too long._

Jakes slipped his arm out of its sling, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. He buried his hand in Morse’s curls, pulling the man closer to him. Morse surged up, encouraged, and demanded more. It made Jakes dizzy, knowing how hungry Morse was for him, knowing his own desire was returned. He couldn’t stop himself from claiming Morse further, biting lightly at Morse’s lower lip. The sound Morse made was sinful, and Jakes decided he needed to hear it again. 

Morse’s neck arched beneath Jakes as he let out a deep sigh. Jakes took the opportunity to nibble a line down Morse’s chin. He felt Morse’s hand at his back, pulling them closer together. By the time Jakes made it to Morse’s ear, the younger man was whispering his name. Jakes nuzzled into the soft space between Morse’s neck and earlobe. He inhaled deeply, grateful to find a place that smelled entirely like _Morse_ and nothing like _hospital_.

Morse shivered at the breath of air that ghosted across his neck. Jakes grinned wickedly and reached up to capture Morse’s earlobe in his mouth. The bastard always did have sensitive ears. Morse gasped, back arching at the sensation.

A whimper of pain broke Jakes’ concentration. _Fuck._ Morse’s ribs.

Jakes jerked back, frantic apologies tumbling from his mouth. “God, Dev. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Morse whined as Jakes pulled away, but his face was lined with pain. He was panting, and Jakes had no idea if it was from pain or lust. 

Jakes ran a hand over Morse’s face. “I’m sorry, Dev. I got carried away.”

Morse glared at him, his face pulling into a pout. “I’m _fine._ ” 

Jakes couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. He dipped down, carefully this time, and kissed the tip of Morse’s nose.

The sound Morse made--somewhere between a yelp and a moan--made Jakes laugh. 

“Not what I meant.” Morse muttered.

Jakes rather predatory grin melted into a soft smile, and he untangled his fingers from Morse’s hair. He ran his thumb over Morse’s lips gently. 

“I know, Dev, I know.” He growled lightly when Morse attempted to capture his wandering thumb between kiss-swollen lips. “Stop it!” Jakes yanked his hand back. If Morse got ahold of his fingers...well, he was pretty sure that even Nurse Howard had her limits. 

Morse glared at him again, his pouting lips far too distracting. “I missed you.” 

Jakes had to bite his lower lip to keep from pouncing on Morse again. The man so rarely attempted any form of seduction that Jakes always found it nearly impossible to resist.

“Dev, we’re in hospital. It’s 4 in the afternoon. Thursday could walk in at any minute.”

Morse’s eyes widened and he let out a frustrated huff. “God, don’t talk about Thursday when we’re kissing.”

“We aren’t kissing and that’s precisely my point.” Jakes reached down and gently took Morse’s hand. “You’re hurt, Dev. I know I’m a bit hard to resist,” Jakes grinned again, as saucily as he could manage. “But you need to heal up.” He rubbed his thumb gently over Morse’s hand.

“I’d heal a lot faster if you’d put your hands to work _elsewhere._ ” Morse growled, with a pointed glance at Jakes’ long fingers. He glanced back up to Jakes. 

Jakes’ brain just _stopped_ at Morse’s insinuation. He had no idea if he was grateful for the _completely different_ images that suddenly flashed through his mind, or if they just made everything even more awkward.

While he was trying to get his brain working again, he felt Morse tense beneath him. He let out a strangled gasp, gripping Jakes’ hand as tightly as he could. 

Jakes glanced over his shoulder to find a rather mischievous-looking Nurse Howard grinning at them.

“Doctor is on his way up, and your Inspector isn’t far behind.” She chirped. “And as much as I encourage your keeping each other warm, I have to frown upon any extracurricular activities.” She glanced at Morse pointedly. “He’s not well enough.” Morse huffed, and her glare grew sterner. “Young man, if that one rib gets displaced, you could be in serious trouble.”

Morse paled and Jakes scrambled backwards. He stared down at Morse, horrified.

Nurse Howard’s face relaxed. “Now, I don’t mean to scare you off. Just be gentle. And no…” she cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows. “Nothing _strenuous_ until he’s been released.”

Jakes nodded, swallowing heavily. Morse frowned, but nodded as well.

“Good. Now, you’ve got about two minutes before you’ll have some less understanding company. I suggest you straighten your hospital gown a bit, Mr. Jakes.” She smirked at them one last time before closing the door behind her.

Jakes glanced down at himself, blushing a bit at his rather disheveled appearance. 

“I think you look fine,” Morse muttered, glaring at the closed door.

Jakes grinned. Morse was coming back to him, bit by bit. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could get through this together.

He dipped down and pressed a quick kiss to Morse’s lips. “Rest, now, Dev. We’ve time for more later. I promise.”

Morse raised his eyebrows. "I'm holding you to that, Peter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Guardianoffun and Fitzrove for coaching me through this chapter, and especially that one particular section. I decided to try my hand at writing a...more mature kiss between these two disaster boyfriends. I proceeded to panic, and probs would have given up without those two. 
> 
> Ah, yes, one other announcement. I decided to name our favorite nurse. I did a quick search, since it's pride month, and decided to name her after Brenda Howard, who is considered to be the "mother of pride". 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! <3


	4. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse needs to sleep in order to heal, but he's refusing to rest. He gets a little bit stroppy when Jakes insists that he get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Very Important Note: This chapter was co-written with guardianoffun and would not have happened if it hadn't been for her help and inspiration. School ended on Friday and I am physically and emotionally drained. Writing is therapy to me, but I couldn't get inspired. Guardianoffun pulled me out of a slump and this delightful chapter was born.
> 
> A Second Very Important Note: I have deviated from the lyrics of Here Comes the Sun for a very important reason. [ Safe and Sound ](https://youtu.be/zuBkgz_BmD4) makes me cry and you should to. Honestly, go listen to this song. Guardianoffun and I were listening to it nonstop while composing this chapter, and its Very Important to the cuddling at the end.

When the doctors had finally retreated, taking with them their unholy needles and vials of blood, they left a faintly trembling Endeavour Morse in their wake. His grey-blue eyes were impossibly wide as they stared stubbornly at a spot on the wall. His jaw worked visibly as he swallowed, and Jakes could see it, the edginess. The way his fingers twitched, aching for a pen to scribble out a crossword clue; he was too wired. The cumbersome cast, broken ribs, and vicious concussion a hindrance. If they were at home, Morse would have a record on by now, be pacing the length of the room. He’d have a drink no doubt, another thing the hospital was unsurprisingly lacking in. All this sitting in bed was the furthest from what Morse needed right now. It left too much time to think.

Jakes cautiously approached the bed. Morse had relaxed enough in the past day or so that he now allowed the nurses and doctor near him without Jakes’ immediate presence. He still panicked if Jakes tried to leave the room, however. 

“Dev?” he murmured cautiously. 

Morse’s head shot up, frightened eyes finding Jakes’. The yellowing, blue-black bruises surrounding those eyes that Jakes loved increased the haunted image that Morse presented.

“Peter?” His voice was still raspy, harsh edges left by violent hands on his delicate throat. Jakes winced, clenching his fist at his side. He wouldn’t say it aloud, not to Morse, but he was plagued by the fear that Cole Matthews might have stolen that beautiful voice. He could only pray that time and hot cocoa would heal what had been so very nearly broken. He reached a hand out and found the one part of Morse’s arm not shining with bruised skin and gently squeezed. 

“Are you alright, Dev?” he murmured, sitting gently on the edge of the bed.

Morse flinched, eyes dropping down to Jakes’ hand on his arm. He nodded minutely, not that Jakes believed him for a moment.

Jakes gave him a soft smile, reaching on hand out to brush back a few unruly curls from his forehead. He relished in the soft, clean feel of Morse’s hair. Jakes let the russet silk soothe his hands, erasing the gritty, bloody feel from his nightmares. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Morse’s head. 

“I don’t believe you, you know,” Jakes murmured into Morse’s hair. 

Morse leaned into Jakes’ side, his head coming to rest on Jakes’ shoulder. He huffed, exhaustion seeping into the sound. “Should.” The word was pouty and it made Jakes chuckle.

“And why should I?” Jakes ran his hand gently up Morse’s arm, carefully avoiding the worst of the bruises. “You’re wound so tightly, you’ll never heal this way.” He pressed another kiss to Morse’s temple.

Morse twisted a bit, turning his face towards Jakes, a protest in his eyes. A sharp gasp slipped from between his lips before he made it halfway. Jakes narrowed his eyes.

“Dev,” Jakes admonished gently. He sighed. “You need to rest.”

Morse stiffened in Jake’s arms. “I’m fine.” He growled. The effect was rather ruined by the raggedness in his voice. 

Jakes pulled back a bit. “Dev, you have to let your body heal. It can’t heal when you keep pushing it like this.” He did his best to glower at Morse. “You’re in the hospital for a reason.” His gaze softened as his eyes skimmed over the bruises, cuts, and bandages that covered his love. “A very good reason.”

Morse twisted away from Jakes, sitting up on the edge of the bed as a scowl formed on his face. “I said I’m _fine.”_ The words came out through teeth clenched together and lips nearly immobile. 

Jakes straightened, his hand chasing Morse across the bed. “Dev, you are _not_ fine. You’ve not slept in hours!”

“I’ve gone much longer before now,” Morse replied with a pained grimace. He raised his arm and pressed an unbandaged finger to his temple, eyes still avoiding Jakes. 

“Christ, Endeavour!” Jakes snapped, concern sharpening into frustration. “Your bloody sleeping habits aren’t anywhere near healthy.” 

“Healthy?” Morse spat back. He pressed his free arm against his ribs, wincing. “You’re the one who smokes a bloody dozen cigarettes every hour.”

“At least I eat,” Jakes growled back. He shifted on the bed, trying to get Morse to look at him. “You run yourself ragged every damn day, refusing to eat and never sleeping unless you pass out at your bloody desk.” Jakes huffed, his frustration growing as Morse evaded his gaze. “And if that doesn’t work, you’re just as likely to drink yourself to death.”

Morse’s shoulders twitched. “It worked perfectly well before,” he spat. “Besides, you won’t let me near a damned bottle anymore.”

Jakes felt anger leech its way into his veins. “Before?” he hissed.

“Before you,” Morse rasped. “I was doing...fine. Just fine. Hadn’t died.”

There was something brittle in Morse’s voice, but Jakes ignored it. “Oh, right, and stumbling around three sheets to the wind and slowly killing yourself is _living,_ Endeavour?” Morse flinched from the anger that coated his name, but Jakes was too riled up to notice. “Oh, but let’s not forget the beer. Brain food, right?” Jakes scoffed.

“I was not,” Morse retorted. “I was...fine. On my own.” The words were ground out, a sharp note of pain marring the anger Morse wore like a suit of armor. “Wasn’t drinking too much.”

A memory slipped into Jakes’ mind. Of Morse huddled on Jakes’ couch, hands clutching a half-empty whiskey bottle. Of an empty bottle shattered at Morse’s feet, bits of glass covered in blood--Morse’s blood. Of vacant eyes that refused to respond to Jakes’ panicked shouts. Of ambulances...and _hospitals._

God, how many times had Jakes sat watch at Morse’s bedside? And now he sat here, _arguing_ with the poor bastard. _His_ poor bastard.

Another memory followed, that of holding Morse’s cold body in his arms. The smell of rotting wood mixed with the fragrance of sweet peas. The feel of Morse’s sticky blood on his hands. Jakes shuddered, trying to shake the nightmare. He forced the anger back down. This wasn’t what Morse needed. Hell, it wasn’t what _he_ needed.

“You were, Dev,” Jakes replied, his voice softer. He reached a gentle hand out, laying it on Morse’s unbandaged shoulder.

Morse flinched from the touch. A whimper escaped Morse’s lips, and Jakes felt his own heart still.

“Dev?”

Morse’s shoulders slumped. A pained hiss followed, and he straightened abruptly.

“Dev!” Jakes yelped. He jerked forward, wrapping his left arm around Morse to support him.

Morse shook his head, another whimper slipping out. “‘m fine…” The words were drenched in fatigue and pain.

Jakes tugged gently on Morse’s shoulders until the younger man collapsed back against the pillows. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face pinched with exhaustion. Jakes ghosted his hand over Morse’s face.

“Dev?”

Morse shook his head faintly, eyes closing as he leaned into Jakes’ hand. “‘m sorry,” he murmured.

“No, Dev, I’m sorry,” Jakes let his hand drift to Morse’s shoulder, his fingers drawing soothing patterns on the smooth skin. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to sleep, Peter,” Morse whispered. He took a deep breath that caught somewhere in his chest. “I can’t.” His eyes flickered open. “Every time….everytime I close my eyes...I see _them._ ” A shudder ran through Morse’s thin body, and Jakes felt shame wash over him.

_How could he not have guessed?_ Every time he closed his own eyes, he he closed his eyes he saw Cole standing over Morse. Every time he lost contact with Morse, he relived the whole ordeal again. _Every time._ And yet he expected Morse to just sleep, as if nothing had happened? Bloody hell, he was an idiot. 

“Endeavour,” Jakes whispered, taking care to pour as much love as he could into the name. Morse’s eyes sought Jakes’. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Morse scrunched his eyes closed, face crumpling in sorrow. Then he whimpered, flinching towards Jakes as if struck by an invisible hand. His breathing grew ragged. “He said I was pathetic.” 

Jakes would have missed the whispered words, had he not been watching Morse’s face carefully. _Peck._ The bastard had kept up a litany of insults, and God only knew what he had said to Morse before Jakes had arrived. Jakes hand twisted under Morse’s cheek, coming to gently cup the delicate but bruised face of his lover. 

“I cried, Dev,” Jakes murmured, bending closer to Morse. “I cried, the whole time. I thought I was losing you.” He swallowed the rising lump in his throat. “I begged them, to let you go. I _begged,_ Dev.” Jakes kissed Morse tenderly. “You’re no weaker than I, Dev. You’re so much stronger.”

Morse stared up at Jakes, unshed tears in his exhausted eyes. “Then why can’t I stop them? The memories?” The ragged whisper tore a hole in Jakes’ bruised heart.

“Because you’re not meant to fight alone, Dev,” Jakes murmured. “Let me help? Please?”

An anguished sob tore itself from Morse, and he curled himself towards Jakes’ warmth. Jakes wrapped an arm around him, supporting Morse until the man rested comfortably on Jakes’ chest. Jakes held him, while sobs shook the slight frame. His slender fingers meandered in soothing patterns on Morse’s back. 

“Just close your eyes, Dev,” he murmured against Morse’s curls. “I’ve got you. Nothing can hurt you here. We’re both safe and sound, Dev, I promise.” He paused, running his hand over Morse’s trembling arms. “I’ll never leave you alone. You made me promise, remember? Not to leave you, the night you saved me.” A rueful smile curled at the edges of his lips. He pressed a kiss to the top of Morse’s head. “Don’t you dare think about what happened, Dev. Just listen to my heartbeat. Breathe with me, Dev. I’m right here. Let the world turn on its own axis, without us. Just hold onto me.” Jakes brought his hand to the nape of Morse’s neck, and he pulled Morse closer to his chest. “I’ll never let you go, Endeavour Morse. Never.”

His fingers curled in Morse’s hair, Jakes held him close. Morse’s breathing slowed, and the tremors began to weaken. Morse’s fingers, peeking from the cast, began tapping out a soft rhythm on Jakes’ chest. After a moment, Jakes realised Morse was tapping to his heartbeat. He couldn’t help the smile that brought on. Was there any way, he wondered, to show Morse how every beat was for him? Morse could play this tune any which way he wanted; he could have Peter’s heart singing and he could probably stop it just as easily.

Jakes bent his head until his lips hovered over Morse’s ear. 

“You hear that, Dev? That sound, its all for you. I’m nothing without you, Endeavour, and I’ll be right here, every night, as long as you need me.” He kissed the shell of Morse’s ear, delighting in the soft sigh that was Morse’s response. “Listen to it, don’t listen to that voice.” Jakes’ hand tightened protectively around Morse’s back. “The sound of your breathing, Dev...I need to hear it, to know you’re still here and not… _there. _Still here with me.”__

__  
_ _

Morse nuzzled into Jakes’ chest, a shaky breath the only sound that he made. Jakes rested his cheek against the solid presence of Morse’s head. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing as the homey scent of _Morse_ washed over him.

“I love you, Endeavour Morse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Third Very Important Note: In case you were wondering about this nightmare of Jakes' (and haven't seen it yet), please go check out [ gonna need a whole lot more than stitches ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082506) by guardianoffun. She obliged me by turning her delightful angst skills towards a nightmare for poor Jakes. She deserves lots of kudos for that addition to this series. :)
> 
> I hope to be back with more sooner rather than later. My body is quite upset with me for the stress I put it through these last few weeks of school...hopefully I shall recover quickly and return to healing Morse. :)
> 
> As always, thanks for comments and kudos! <3


	5. Never Let You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse sleeps, but his dreams are not sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This technically should go with chapter four, but I only just wrote it, and I didn't want you all to miss the update. :)
> 
> Possible trigger warning for vivid nightmares and remembering being held down/touched without permission. It's NOT in a sexual manner, but it could possibly be triggering if you are super sensitive to that general subject.

He could feel their hands on him. Rough hands, covered with callouses. Filthy hands, smelling of cheap whiskey, with dirt buried under broken fingernails. Harsh hands, intent on inflicting as much damage as possible.

He felt huge fingers wrap themselves around his slender wrist. They squeezed tightly, with enough power to shatter the delicate bones if he protested. Skin like sandpaper bit into his flayed skin and he cried out.

The hands moved to his shoulders, slamming him backwards against the wall. His head smacked into the wall and he felt the bones in his skull crack once again. Stubby fingers dug into healing wounds left by a rusty knife. 

Then one hand reached up, catching his chin in a grip hard enough to fracture his jaw. He felt blood seep from beneath blunt fingernails, dripping down his chin much faster than his blood had any right to. The hand tilted his head to the side, and he felt critical eyes on him.

He couldn’t hear their words, but he could _feel_ them. _Pathetic. Useless. Bastard._ Different voices seemed to mix in with drunken insults; voices from his past.

_Unwanted. Your son, not mine. Not enough. Never enough._

He pulled his own hands up to cover his ears, heedless to the blood that ran down his arms. 

_Make it stop! Please, make them stop!_

Cruel laughter sounded in his ears as more hands crushed his wrists in brutal grips. With terrible violence they jerked his arms back to his sides, ignoring his screams. 

Their hands were _everywhere._

Pinning him to the wall by his shoulders. Crushing his jaw. Threatening to splinter his wrists. 

And now a new set wrapped themselves around his throat. He whimpered, trying to pull away. _Not Peter._ Peter was the only one he allowed to touch him there--those soft hands always gentle and loving. So unlike these relentless hands that sought to crush the life from him.

They didn’t retreat. The hands tightened around his neck, and he tried to scream. The sound died in his throat as he felt his bones shatter.

* * *

His name. He could hear his name. Someone was calling him.

_A dream._ Was it a dream? Those hands...they felt so real. But maybe...this voice seemed real...maybe he dreamt it?

Morse moaned, praying it was a dream. Hoping that he wouldn’t find leering, drunken faces staring down at him. He needed it to be a dream, all of it. He’d had nightmares before, this was just one of them. He would wake up at home, in bed, next to Peter. He would wake Peter up, maybe they could have hot cocoa. 

_It was a dream._

He forced his eyes open.

_Where am I?_

This wasn’t home. This wasn’t his ceiling. This wasn’t his bed.

It didn’t smell of home. He couldn’t feel Peter. _Where was Peter?_ Peter wasn’t _here._

_It wasn’t a dream!_

The hands had been real. The pain had been real. The fear, the beating, the screams. _They were all real!_

And then he felt hands on him again. _They were touching him._

Hands on his arm, the one that was broken. _Please, don’t break it again!_

Hands, moving to his shoulders. Long fingers wrapping around his shoulders, seeking out the wounds that _were too real._

They would encircle his neck soon, choke the life out of him. 

_Why couldn’t it have been a dream?_

Morse whimpered, trying to turn his head away from the owner of those hands.

Then the hands were at his chin, those fingers were closing in on him, ready to crush his jaw, ready to cause him more pain, ready to--

Morse’s breath caught in his throat as those long fingers--fingers he should have recognized immediately--ghosted over his face and into his curls. They wrapped gently--protectively--around the back of his head.

“Dev, love--it’s me, it’s Peter!” 

Morse finally managed to focus on the figure bending over him, finally managed to take in the dark hair and pale face that he loved so much. His senses came back to him and he could feel the reassuring weight on the bed next to him, could hear the racing beep of the machine keeping watch over his heart.

_Hospital._

_Peter._

“Peter?” he whispered. Morse was too exhausted and too frightened to care about the way his voice broke on that word. All he wanted was Peter. All he needed was Peter’s arms around him, Peter’s scent surrounding him, Peter’s strong chest behind him. He didn’t bother trying to stop the tears. These hands, they wouldn’t hurt him. They couldn’t. “God, Peter!” 

And then those hands were around him, supporting him, soothing him. Those hands pulled him back onto Peter, where he had fallen asleep. They combed through his hair, slowly massaging his scalp. They ran down his face, lovingly, as if they’d never gotten to explore something so wondrous. They ran down the length of his back, then back up, as the chest beneath his ear rumbled with soothing words. Slender fingers drew gentle patterns on his arms, healing the bruises they encountered and warding off nightmares. 

Morse curled himself into Peter’s body, pressing his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. He let Peter’s hands wash away the memories of other hands, crueler hands. He let himself remember what it meant to be touched by hands that meant only love, and not harm. He allowed himself to drift on the soothing words that Peter whispered. He let those words replace the taunting voices from his nightmare.

_Mine. My love. My everything. Safe. I love you._

And Endeavour Morse allowed himself to cry. He should count it a weakness, he knew, to cry twice in one day. But the truth was that he was far to weak. He couldn’t fight off the urge, couldn’t find any way to rid himself from the ghosts of those dreams. He buried his face into Peter’s shoulder and sobbed. Somehow, that soft voice kept going. It offered not the verbal abuse that Morse expected, no chastisement for unmanly tears. Only patience. Only _love._

_You’ll be alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you._

_I’ll never let you go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was not what I intended to write but here we are. 
> 
> I'm starting to recover from my end of school shut down, and I'm also fighting a rather insistent urge to start writing Good Omens fanfic....send help. Or send comments. Either works. :)
> 
> Also, I was thinking this runs a bit along the lines of what happened in Treat You Better, so I wasn't going to include Jakes' perspective on this nightmare. But, if y'all want it, let me know in the comments and I will happily write it. :)


	6. Hold on to this Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes' perspective on Morse's dream, and subsequent efforts to comfort (and cheer up) his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a wild ride, and takes a minor detail into the realm of crack. Blame guardianoffun for that. ;)

_“I love you, Endeavour Morse.”_

Jakes held Morse close to him until those shattered fingers had stopped tapping along to Jakes’ heartbeat. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around Morse until the younger man’s breathing deepened into that of a peaceful slumber. Jakes kept up his gentle exploration of Morse’s curls until his own heart had slowed, until he felt the pull of sleep at his own eyes.

But as the hands on the clock continued their monotonous dance, Jakes found that his mind refused to rest. His arms insisted on maintaining their protective embrace around Morse’s battered frame. His fingers maintained their path, attempting to convince themselves that Morse was indeed safe and sound. 

Every sound from the hallway caused Jakes to jump, mind instantly searching the room for something--anything-- he could use to defend Morse. Stray footsteps that paused outside the door set his heart pounding. His ears strained to hear the murmured conversations, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight.

After nearly three-quarters of an hour, Jakes decided to stretch his legs. He was afraid that if he stayed put, his anxiety would wake Morse. Perhaps if he paced the length of the room a few times, ensured that there was no one lurking in the shadows, he could put his mind at rest. He would never be more than a few paces from Morse, and so long as he kept himself between the Morse and the door, no danger could come to his beloved.

With a tenderness that would earn him sharp ridicule outside of these walls, Jakes slipped himself from beneath Morse. He settled Morse onto his side, taking a moment to pull the horrid hospital blanket around Morse’s shoulders. He’d have to talk to Win Thursday about getting a softer blanket in here. Jakes’ hand came to rest on Morse’s head and a soft smile snuck onto his face. Not three days ago, Jakes had been crippled by the thought of losing Morse forever, and now he had the luxury of worrying about _blankets._

And food, actually. The nurses had said Morse would soon be cleared for the rich soups that Win had been sneaking in for Jakes. Jakes’ smile turned mischievous as the thought of _feeding Morse_ entered his mind. Morse would be livid, and Jakes was getting quite tired of Morse’s exhausted acquiescence of late. Morse was the only one who could go toe to toe with Jakes’ arrogance, and Jakes rather missed picking those pointless fights. Morse had come close to his old feistiness earlier, but Jakes could derive no joy when he knew Morse was only fighting because he was afraid and in pain. Spoon-feeding the man, however, was fair game.

Jakes bent down to press his lips to Morse’s forehead, a few seconds longer than was probably necessary. He smoothed back some wayward curls before straightening reluctantly. He would be back, with Morse, just as soon as he worked off some of his nervous energy. He wasn’t going far.

* * *

Jakes found himself growing tired as he crossed the floor for the fifth time. The soft, steady rhythm of his stocking feet slowly dulled the racing of his thoughts. Every time he crossed the room, finding no threats in the corners, he felt his muscles slowly relax. _Morse was safe._ Jakes took a deep breath, eyes closing for a second as he let that truth sink into his weary bones.

And then Morse screamed.

It was a hoarse, low sound--not loud enough to alert the nurses outside. But it was so desperate and broken that it shredded Jakes’ hard-won peace. “Dev!” Jakes leapt across the room, faster than was healthy considering his own healing wounds. He had no intention of leaving Morse alone, adrift with his nightmares, for even one second; so he ignored the way his head spun and his shoulder protested at the sudden movement. He had to get to Morse.

Morse was writhing on the bed, moaning unintelligibly to himself. His face was contorted in both fear and pain, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sheets.

“Dev! Morse! Endeavour!” Jakes was shouting at Morse, desperately trying to bring him back to consciousness. The sight of his Morse suffering, trapped in memories of the past--memories that Jakes well knew would be distorted and made more terrible by the curse of his subconscious mind--it burned into Jakes’ soul, leaving behind a charred and throbbing mess. Jakes choked on his own words, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. “Dev!”

Morse’s eyes flew open, and Jakes gasped in relief. It was short lived, however, as Morse’s gaze refused to focus. His eyes searched the ceiling, his breathing speeding up as he failed to find any comfort in the sterile, unfamiliar surroundings. Jakes ran his hand up Morse’s arm, wincing as Morse flinched away from the touch. 

“No, please!” Morse whimpered. He jerked away from Jakes, as if to flee the bed. The movement tugged at his battered ribs, and another low gasp of pain spearing Jakes’ heart.

Jakes’ hands flew to Morse’s shoulders, trying to keep the younger man steady. “Dev, calm down. It’s me!”

“Stop, please...stop!” Morse sobbed, his head turning away from Jakes.

“God, Dev, look at me!” Jakes winced as his words came out louder than he intended. He let his fingers brush gently against Morse’s face--a gesture that he’d used many times before to bring Morse out of his own nightmares. Jakes’ long fingers wrapped around Morse’s head, burying themselves into his hair as he cradled Morse. “Dev, love--it’s me, it’s Peter!”

Finally--blessedly--Morse stilled. His blue eyes focused in on Jakes’ face, widening with recognition. “Peter?”

Jakes felt his heart shatter at Morse’s whimper. He hadn’t heard that sound--that splintered, abandoned longing--in what felt like ages. Not since...since he had managed to replace cheap scotch with luxurious chocolate. He knew what it meant, it had taken a long time to piece together Morse’s hidden past, but he had gotten there eventually. It was the sound of someone who was afraid to admit to his own fear, afraid to reach out for the comfort he so desperately needed, afraid to be abused for the emotions that ran so close to the surface. Every time Jakes heard it, felt it in his bones, he felt anger surge within him. Anger at the man who had “raised” Morse, anger for every single person who had ever made Morse ashamed for who he was. And every time, Jakes nearly drowned in the torrent of protectiveness that washed over him.

“God, Peter!” The breathless sob overwhelmed Jakes, and he gathered Morse into his arms.

Jakes slipped into the bed, tugging Morse swiftly but tenderly back into place over his chest. He ran his hands through those curls, gently rubbing small circles into the younger man’s scalp. He gave in to the urge allow his fingers to dance over Morse’s face, as if it were the first and the last time he would ever be allowed to touch his beautiful Morse. Jakes’ hands ran down the slender length of Morse’s back, and then up again, murmuring words of comfort into his lover’s ears.

Morse whimpered, tucking his face into Jakes’ neck. Jakes leaned forward, trapping Morse there with the tip of his chin. He was never letting go.

“Shhh, luv, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Jakes whispered, praying that his words would calm the shaking man in his arms. “My love, never doubt that. You’re mine, my love and my everything, Dev. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” Jakes nuzzled into Morse’s hair. “I love you, darling.”

Morse drew in a shaky breath, and then he was crying--sobbing, really. His thin frame shook with the ferocity of the sobs, and he curled in on himself as if expecting to be struck for this display of emotions. Jakes simply kept up his caresses and whispered words.

“You’ll be alright, Dev. You’re safe, here with me. I’ve got you, I promise.” Jakes buried his face in Morse’s hair. “I’ll never let you go.”

* * *

After what felt like hours--despite the clock on the wall claiming it was only a quarter of an hour-- Morse had calmed. His sobs diminished into little hiccups--which Jakes tried not to find adorable--and his tremors ceased. His face remained steadfastly buried in Jakes’ neck, his good fingers clutching at Jakes’ shirt as if it were the only thing holding him to reality. 

Jakes supposed he should have been grateful for the peace that had settled over Morse. But he knew Morse better. Morse had ceased to panic, but that meant that he was now _thinking,_ and Jakes knew well enough that an introspective Morse was a dangerous creature on a good day. This was far from a good day. When Morse had a chance to think, he usually ended up nearly drowning in cheap scotch--or going through a frankly ridiculous amount of chocolate. (Given the option, Jakes would gladly spend the extra money on the chocolate.) Whatever Morse had going on in that brain of his, Jakes was sure it was nothing healthy. If Morse didn’t manage to ensnare himself in self-recrimination, he would likely end up trying to recall whatever nightmare he had been trapped in. 

Jakes ran a reverent hand down Morse’s back. Morse needed sleep--no, he needed _rest._ He needed to relax, to feel safe. He needed to get out of his own head. Jakes had asked Morse to move in with him nearly two years ago, and they had been much more than just colleagues for far longer. He had picked up a few tricks along the way; methods certain to pull Morse out of his slumps. One of them had been strictly forbidden by Nurse Brenda, and another required access to his own kitchen. Amusing Morse--or annoying him, as it usually turned out--that he could do any day.

Jakes grinned mischievously as he nuzzled--rather obnoxiously--into Morse’s hair. Morse whimpered, snuggling a bit further into Jakes. 

“You know, Dev,” Jakes began. “I don’t think I ever told you about this one dream I had.” Morse made a noise that sounded as if it were midway between a growl and a groan. “No, really, you’ll love it.” Jakes kissed Morse’s curls before continuing. “Inspector Thursday was a horse.”

Morse let out a muffled yelp, but refused to uncurl from Jakes’ chest. That was just fine with Jakes; it would have been far too easy if Morse had just given in then and there. Besides, it had been quite a while since Jakes had been allowed to pester Morse. So he just grinned, and launched into an elaborate retelling of the dream. Granted, he embellished a few places. Thursday hadn’t _really_ had a dress uniform made to fit his horse body, and Win Thursday hadn’t exactly insisted on placing a wreath of flowers around Thursday’s neck every morning. But it sounded rather amusing to imagine that anyway. And the part about Thursday rearing back when Jago threatened Morse was a _bit_ of a stretch. To be fair, Jago had glared at Thursday and shouted “That’s exactly what I thought you’d say, you dumb _fucking_ horse”, but Thursday hadn’t threatened to stomp Jago to death with his hooves if he so much as _looked_ Morse again. The mental image made Jakes laugh though, and he had to stop for a moment to regain his composure.

Finally, Morse shifted in Jakes’ arms. Jakes glanced down, smiling fondly at the pale, bedraggled face that glared blearily up at him. Morse’s lips were pulled into a rather affected pout, and Jakes congratulated himself. If Morse was actively pouting, he wasn’t lost in the horrific maze that was his brain.

“You’re daft,” Morse whispered, quite clearly trying not to smile. 

Jakes grinned and leaned down to kiss the tip of Morse’s nose. As expected, Morse sputtered and pushed weakly against Jakes’ chest.

“Peter!” Morse protested.

“Admit it, Dev. You find horse-Thursday amusing,” Jakes teased, tightening his hold on Morse. It didn’t matter if Morse was pretending; Jakes still wasn’t letting him go.

“Horrifying, more like,” Morse murmured. Jakes’ lips curled into a possessive smile as shuffled about, positioning himself so that he could look up into Jakes’ face while still resting his head on the older man’s chest. Morse gave a gentle _harrumph_ to emphasis his words.

“But, Dev,” Jakes began, his tone wheedling. “Imagine Bright’s face if Thursday just came trotting into work as if everything was just the same?”

Morse’s face twitched and his teeth worried at his bottom lip as he tried not to laugh. Without warning, he let out a loud snort. Then he was shaking with silent laughter as he buried his face back into Jakes’ shirt. Jakes raised his eyebrows, staring bemusedly down at Morse. 

“It wasn’t quite _that_ funny, Dev,” Jakes admonished, his hand gently stroking the nape of Morse’s neck.

Morse shook his head, his face reappearing with a grimace. “No--” he gasped, wincing as he tried not to laugh harder. “No--I thought of...what if...Fancy! His face...he’d be so, he’d just---” Morse collapsed into giggles again, his body relaxing completely into Jakes’ hold.

Jakes tossed his head back and allowed himself a hearty chuckle. God, that image. He could just see Fancy’s face break into a delighted grin, and the idiot would probably try to _pet_ Thursday. 

“Dammit, Dev,” Jakes gasped, trying to catch his breath. Morse glared up at him, the effect rather comical--what with the amused crinkles by his eyes, his disheveled curls, and the fact that he was buried in Jakes’ arms.

“You started it,” Morse gasped. “My ribs hurt too much to laugh like this, you prick.”

Jakes sobered immediately, his hand coming to rest on Morse’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dev, I just--”

Morse snorted. His hand came up to rest in the hollow of Jake’s throat. “Peter, I’m not _that_ fragile. It’s alright.” Morse’s face grew serious, and he stroked a tender thumb across Jakes’ neck. “I know what you’re doing, Peter.”

Jakes shivered under the touch, trying to remind himself that they were in the bloody _hospital_ and that, despite Morse’s declaration to the contrary, he was indeed _that fragile._ He fixed an innocent expression on his face as he stared down at Morse.

“What are you talking about?” Jakes teased. “Drawing conclusions based on a few bits of evidence?”

Morse frowned, his eyes roaming Jakes’ face. “It’s not fair, you know.” 

Jakes cocked his head. “What?”

Morse huffed. “You can sit up and walk around and do whatever you want.” Morse’s frown deepened, but--to Jakes’ relief--didn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t even bloody kiss you.”

Jakes’ felt the tension finally drain from his shoulders. If Morse was worried about _kissing,_ he definitely wasn’t stuck with his own demons any more. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try a little more, just to make sure he didn’t slip back. So Jakes leaned down and kissed Morse. He was rewarded with Morse’s soft sigh. Jakes decided not to move just yet.

When he finally pulled back, Morse whined. Jakes grinned cheekily at him. 

“If you wanted a kiss, you just had to say something.”

“I don’t want to _ask_ for it, you idiot,” Morse pouted. “I wanted to kiss you myself.”

Jakes rubbed his thumb along Morse’s check. “You get some rest, and heal up. Then you can have your way with me, Dev.”

Morse’s eyes darkened and he raised his eyebrows. “Oh really?”

Jakes nodded. “Yes, really.”

And then he kissed his Morse again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guardianoffun decided that Jakes should try to cheer Morse up with a dream in which Thursday became a horse. I decided to gallop off with that idea...(Did you catch John Mulaney showing up?)
> 
> A Note: Later today or tomorrow, I plan on merging chapters 4, 5, and 6 into one chapter. They technically all belong together, I just wrote them apart because my brain is dumb. So if you suddenly notice the chapter count goes down, that's why. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, and also the encouragement to dive into Good Omens. <3


	7. All Those Shadows Almost Killed Your Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Matthews' gang inflicted more than just physical damage on Endeavour Morse. 
> 
> Or, Morse and Jakes use their words to talk about feelings. With some tears, a few angry words, and some cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK. Sorry for the long disappearance. I got distracted with some other idea for this universe... ;-)
> 
> As per my usual, I present you with a chapter that was meant to be only about three paragraphs. These two just insisted on having a Discussion and then left me to mop up after them. *eye roll*

“Morse?” Jakes set the cup of--weak, hospital-grade--tea on the table by Morse. He perched on the edge of Morse’s bed, covering one of those bandaged hands in his own. “What’s wrong?” The injured man’s eyes were rimmed in red, as if he were holding back tears.

Jakes cursed silently. He’d only been gone for fifteen minutes. Morse had been dozing peacefully when he left. The younger man had woken up twice more last night, whimpering and frightened. Jakes had soothed him each time, holding Morse close until his shaking stopped. Morse had buried his head in Jakes’ chest, wordlessly begging Jakes not to leave him. The night had shaken them both.

Jakes had been reluctant to leave Morse, but the allure of a warm cup of tea--however pathetic it might be-- had been too much to resist. He needed something to calm his own nerves. Watching his Morse, writhing in terror, had felt like salt sprinkled onto his already raw soul. But if Morse had woken from another dream, surrounded by nothing but sterile walls and unfamiliar smells---Jakes shuddered.

Morse swallowed heavily, staring at their joined hands for a moment longer before looking up. Jakes searched those blue eyes, relieved to find no residual terror there. Something else lurked, however, unreadable in Morse’s eyes.

“Dev? What happened?” Jakes ran his hand over Morse’s curls, lying tousled on the pillow.

Morse’s mouth twitched, and he dropped his eyes. He was hiding, dammit. One shoulder hitched up in a shrug. “I’m fine. Just...tired.” He gave Jakes a small smile.

“Dev,” Jakes rubbed his thumb on the side of Morse’s neck. “Don’t hide from me, please.”

Morse looked up at him, tears glistening in his eyes. He bit his lip. “I...I’m just…” he gave out with a sigh, his eyes closing in defeat.

Jakes tenderly stroked Morse’s curls. He knew that look. He knew where it came from, too. It came from too many years of Morse hiding his pain, keeping it locked inside where no one could use it against him. It came from growing up with a bastard of a father and a bitch of a stepmother. It came from the trainwrecks of relationships Morse had gotten himself tangled up in, women and men alike who never took the time to really know Morse--to get underneath his prickly exterior to find the beautiful but broken man underneath.

“Dev, I’m not your father.” Morse’s head shot up, surprise in his eyes. Jakes leaned forward and kissed Morse gently. “I’m your lover.” He dipped one finger under Morse’s collar, pulling the ring out from where it lay hidden. “Remember? You can’t scare me off, Dev.”

Morse blinked back tears, one hand coming up to rest on Jakes’ hand. He stared at Jakes, jaw working silently against the emotions boiling just beneath the surface.

“Do you remember what I said, when you asked if I was alright? From what...from what happened?” Morse nodded. “I don’t want you to push me away, Dev. I need to know that you’re alright. I need...Dev, please, let me help you heal.” Jakes combed his fingers through Morse’s hair. “I thought I lost you. And...I don’t want to lose you to your memories. Please, Dev.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Morse’s forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Morse nodded tentatively. “I...I’m sorry, Peter. I just…it’s hard to...”

“Shhh, Dev. It’s alright. I know.” Jakes pulled back, one thumb brushing away a fallen tear. “I just don’t want you to lock me out.”

Morse stared down at his hands for a moment, clearly searching for the right words. Finally he looked back up at Jakes. “What...what am I doing here, Peter?”

“Uh...Morse,” Jakes paused, cold fingers clutching at him _Had Morse forgotten?_ The doctors had said he was fine, that he had somehow escaped with no brain damage from his three brushes with death. And yet… “You...you had...you were hurt, Dev.”

Morse rolled his eyes. “I know why I’m in the hospital.” Jakes felt his shoulders relax at the irritation in Morse’s voice. _Thank God._ “I meant...what am I doing at Castle Gate? As a copper.”

Jakes canted his head, trying to keep up. “What?” _Where did that come from?_

“I’m a poor policeman,” Morse murmured. “Thursday told me that, when I started.” He looked lost, adrift with no clear idea of what steps to take next. He took a deep breath, and then words poured out of him like raging waters through a broken dam. “I can’t...Peter, I can’t stand the sight of blood. Mine or another’s. I can’t even look at a corpse without feeling faint. How many times...how many times have I fainted at a body? I can barely stand to fire my weapon. And...just look at me, Peter. _Look at me!_ ”

Morse pushed Jakes back, spreading his bruised and bandaged arms. “I can’t even defend myself! I walked right into a trap big enough for a blind man to see. I couldn’t fight them off. I just...let them. I _let them_ do this to me!” 

He was nearly shouting, frantic energy flashing across his face. An unbroken finger tugged at the gauze surrounding his wrists. “And this! I let them get to me. I let them _lie_ to me. And I believed them. I _believed_ two drunken thugs, Peter. I did this to myself.” The fight vanished as quickly as it had come, a hiccuping sob replacing angry words. “I don’t belong....here. At the nick. I don’t belong.”

Rage and sorrow vied for control within Jakes. Rage at those _animals_ who had not only dared to lay hands on Morse, but who had broken and twisted his spirit. It hadn’t been enough for them to bruise his body, no, they had to taunt him, make fun of his pain, jeer at him for being _human._ Any man would have broken under that onslaught. Jakes had seen men break under far less, he’d seen corpses with fewer bruises than Morse had. Peck had been the worst. He’d laughed at Morse’s torment, tossed insults each time the pain was too much for Morse to bear silently. Each time Morse shied away from Cole’s boots, Peck had called him _a sissy, pathetic, a fairy._

Sorrow followed close behind the rage, blunting the edges and softening Jakes’ gaze. Sorrow that Morse couldn’t see what Jakes saw--hell, Thursday saw it too. Even Fancy. Morse never gave up. It was true that he hated the sight of blood, but if someone was injured, he was the first at their side. Corpses invariably made him sick, yet he pushed through the nausea, intent on hearing DeBryn’s reports. He may have hated carrying a weapon, but he could shoot with more precision than many men at the nick. 

And if he cried out when someone buried a poker in his ribs? Jakes was fairly certain that he who held the poker deserved more judgment than Morse.

Jakes reached his hands out, resting it gently on Morse’s shoulder. “Dev, listen…”

“Don’t.” Morse growled. “Don’t patronize me, Peter. You know they didn’t want me back. They’ve never wanted me. Thursday’s the only reason I haven’t been tossed out.”

There was an edge to Morse’s voice, and Jakes suddenly wondered if this ordeal would end in Morse leaving the nick. Jakes sucked in a breath, the thought washing over him like icy water. The job, without Morse. Jakes shuddered, those horrible weeks after the merger coming back to him. Morse, stranded in some God-forsaken place. Jakes, trying to keep his head down between Thursday and Box. Not able to see Morse until late at night. Not able to avoid the questions about why Morse they still shared a flat despite working in opposite directions. Morse growing distant, retreating into himself. Jakes getting caught up in the tumult at the nick. If Morse left...what would become of _them_?

“Do you...do you want to leave?” He would support Morse, if that was what Morse needed. But he had to know.

Morse looked up at him, clearly not expecting the question. “I...no. No, I don’t, not really.”

“Why?”

Morse took a deep breath. “I...well, I guess...I want to find justice, when no one else seems to care.”

Jakes smiled, gently squeezing Morse’s arm. “And you do, Dev. You’re good at it. How many cases have you solved, things that no one else has been able to see?” Jakes’ smile fell. “I know I rag on you sometimes. But you’re a brilliant detective, Morse. Really.”

“But a poor policeman,” Morse murmured.

Jakes huffed. “Dev, how long ago was it that Thursday said that? Four years? Five?” Jakes rubbed his thumb over Morse’s knuckles. “He said that to a cocky, upstart constable who didn’t know a hunch from solid evidence.” Jakes grinned at Morse, relieved when he got a slight smile in return. “You know what you’re about, now, Dev. Why do you think Thursday wants you back as his bagman?”

Morse’s face was serious as he stared back at Jakes. “And yet I still manage to get myself in trouble. Face it, Peter. It’s a waste of resources, to send all of you out after me.” Morse waved his free hand in frustration. “There’s other people who need help. Yet there you all were, trying to pull me out of a burning house. What good did that do?”

Cold anger seeped into Jakes. “What good did that do?” he repeated softly. “My God, Dev. Do you imagine you mean that little?”

Morse wasn’t looking at Jakes, his eyes roamed the opposite wall. “Whoever decided to send you all after me made a poor decision. Trading evidence for _me_? If I was stupid enough to get myself into it--”

“Stop, Dev, stop it!” Jakes shouted. He pushed himself off the bed. His chest was heaving, the panic from that horrible night coming back, mixing with frustration at Morse’s disregard for himself. “Just...stop this.” 

“It’s the truth, Peter.” 

_Curse that stubbornness._ Morse’s brilliance came in part from his inability to let an idea go, once it had taken hold. The problem was that too often, it was his own failings that his mind chose to focus on. 

“No, Morse. No, it’s not.” Jakes turned away from Morse, trying to reign in his emotions. They were like flames, licking at his feet, threatening to burn him. 

_Look at me._ Morse had insisted. Jakes had looked. And he had seen flaming brands on pale skin, skin that only he was meant to touch. He had seen broken bones, bones that he was meant to soothe with gentle fingers. Jakes had seen a beautiful sculpture--something he treasured, something he adored--broken by cruel hands. The images haunted him. Morse’s screams echoed in his ears.

 _I don’t belong._ Morse had said. Jakes had lived one long, lonely night forced to wonder what would happen if Morse wasn’t there. Ghosts had leapt out at him in every corner...pulling him behind doors for a tender kiss, chasing him down halls with some new theory, dropping off a cup of tea after a long day. The memories frightened him. The silence left by Morse’s absence overwhelmed him.

 _What good did it do?_ Morse had asked. Jakes knew damn well what good it had done. He lived with the proof every day. Days passed by, days that Jakes didn’t remember his childhood. Days when Jakes was free from his own demons. Evenings when Jakes returned to his own flat, falling into an easy routine with someone he loved instead of passing empty hours at the pub. Nights when Jakes was met with tender hands seeking to comfort--instead of ghostly fingers with evil intent. Those were dreams he’d never dared to have. Their reality had saved him.

“You think you’re expendable, Morse.” Jakes hissed, his voice low. “You think nobody cares. You think we all came--Strange, Fancy, Thursday, _DeBryn_ , and even me--you think we came because someone told us we had to.” Jakes spun around. “Division forbade us. They said no, Morse. They said...they said they wouldn’t trade that case for…for a… _God,_ I can’t say it.” Jakes drifted off, unable to repeat the phrase _mere Detective Sergeant._ As if Morse could be bottled up into a simple rank. “I didn’t listen. I stole the file. I _came_ for you, Morse.”

“You _what_?!” Morse sputtered. “Peter, what the hell were you thinking? You can’t just go against _Division_!”

“Why, because if I go against Division, I’ll end up in prison?” Jakes laughed bitterly, turning away. “I refused you once, Dev. I sat there and felt sorry for myself. I drank myself into a stupor. You almost died once because of me. I wasn’t going to sit there and let it happen again.”

“Peter, that _wasn’t your fault._ ” Morse began. “It was--”

Jakes cut him off. “I don’t care! It would have been my fault this time. I couldn’t.” Jakes took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. They shouldn’t be fighting about this, not now. Hell, they shouldn’t fight about it ever. He’d done what needed to be done. And he would do it again. Morse was worth it. Always.

“For God’s sake, Peter, _why?_ ” Morse breathed. “Why would you ...why would you go against direct orders? Why would--”

“Because they were going to _kill_ you, Endeavour,” Jakes shouted. He spun around, glaring at Morse. “I couldn’t stand there and watch that deadline come, knowing I hadn’t even tried. I couldn’t--God--I couldn’t stand there, waiting for the call that would lead us to your...to your _body._ ” His voice broke, but Jakes didn’t care. The nightmares were still too real. “You needed me, Endeavour. I had to try.”

Morse stared at him, his blue eyes startled. “But...Peter...you went against orders.” His voice was breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You...they could take your job, Peter.”

Jakes shook his head. He strode to Morse’s bed, his hands coming to rest on either side of Morse’s face. “I don’t care, Dev. I _don’t care._ They can have my job.” Morse gasped, but Jakes refused to let go. “You don’t get it, do you? You refuse to listen, to believe me. I _need_ you. I can’t do this without you, not anymore.” His thumbs caressed Morse’s cheekbones. Jakes leaned forward to kiss Morse. “What was I supposed to do, keep my job but lose you?” Jakes kissed him again. “Division can take my bloody warrant card, I don’t care.” Jakes pulled back, one hand tugging his ring out from under his collar. “I _meant it_ when I gave this to you,” he hissed. “I’m not...I won’t leave you, and I won’t abandon you to some bloody murderer.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll always come for you, Dev, or I’ll die trying.”

Morse stared at Jakes, frozen in shock. “Wh--why?” He glanced back down at his bruised body. “Why would you risk _everything_ for me?”

“My God, Dev,” Jakes breathed, resting his forehead against Morse’s. “Because you _are_ my everything.” He pulled back, gently wiping away tears that had collected on Morse’s cheeks. “And I’ll keep saying that until you believe me, Dev.” 

Jakes pulled his legs back up onto the bed, tugging Morse gently until the younger man was resing on Jakes’ chest. “You asked me to look at you, Dev. You wanted me to see these bruises and bandages and say you’re weak.” Jakes ran his hand gently up Morse’s cast. “I can’t.” He swallowed hard and kissed the top of Morse’s head. His voice was shaking when he continued. “I see a cruel man...attacking you for no reason. I see you fighting to hang on...for me. I see...I… _Christ,_ Endeavour.” Jakes broke off, burying his face in Morse’s curls. 

Jakes tightened his arm around Morse’s shoulders, his fingers curling into the rough fabric of Morse’s hospital clothes. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, trying to fight off the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Dev…” Jakes murmured into Morse’s curls. “God, Dev. How...how can you think…” Jakes took a shaky breath. He was losing the battle. “I promised myself, Dev, that I wouldn’t cry. That I would be...strong. But...I love you, Endeavour.” He felt the tears spill over, washing over his face and falling into the red-brown forest beneath. “And I...almost lost you...and now you...you ask me why…” Jakes clutched Morse closer to his chest. “Whatever they said...it was a lie, Dev...whatever you think about yourself...it’s not true.” Jakes felt Morse’s bandaged hand cover his own. 

“I...I’m sorry, Peter,” Morse whispered, his own voice thick with unshed tears. “I...I didn’t…”

“Don’t...don’t leave me, Endeavour,” Jakes cut him off. “And please don’t ask me why...I just...I love you...and...I need you, Morse....you are so precious to me.” Jakes couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. He had tried so hard not to show Morse how frightened he’d been. He had tried to keep his fears and his worries inside, where Morse couldn’t find them. But facing a Morse who didn’t believe he deserved to be rescued...it was too much. Jakes clutched Morse to him and buried his face in Morse’s curls. 

And he cried.

Peter Jakes rarely cried. It wasn’t how he dealt with his pain. Tears reminded him of the days when he was powerless, unable to fight back. Tears reminded him of the days when he still had something to lose, before he had hardened into the cynical bastard that he was.

Jakes preferred to fight, to rage against the cruelty of the world, lashing out with words or fists. He preferred to wash his sorrows with a few shots of scotch or several pints of beer. He would bury himself in work, until he could forget his pain.

But that was before Morse. That was before he’d nearly suffocated under the weight of his past and mistakes. That was before Morse had saved him. And it was before he’d found Morse nearly comatose from trying to drown his own sorrows. 

It was before he had learned that he still had something to lose. Something more precious than he’d ever had in his life.

So Peter Jakes held that precious gift to his chest. He held Morse close, trembling fingers stroking Morse’s arms, his face, his back--reminding Jakes that Morse was still here, warm and alive and healing. Jakes held Morse as he sobbed, hoping that Morse would understand why he was crying. That he would understand how much Jakes cared, how much he needed Morse. And he held Morse as Morse began to cry. Jakes held Morse as the younger man curled in towards Jakes, his tears soaking into Jakes’ shirt. 

They clung to one another in that hospital bed, seeking comfort and reassurance from one another. They sought healing from one another, and absolution for their individual weaknesses. They held each other close, until shaking subsided to exhaustion and sobs quieted to calming breaths.

Jakes ran his fingers through Morse’s curls, his face buried in Morse’s hair. His mind searched for the words that might convince Morse of how much Jakes cared, of how wrong Peck and Cole had been.

“You think...you think what they said is true? That...that you’re…” Jakes cut himself off, trying to fight off more tears. “I can’t even say it.”

“Pathetic…” Morse whispered. “He said...he said I was--”

“He was wrong.” Jakes growled. He shifted Morse back so that he could look into his eyes. “He was wrong, Dev.” 

“See this?” Jakes ran a tender finger over Morse’s gauze-wrapped wrists. “Dev, you tried to get out. You hurt yourself trying to escape. You think that’s pathetic? And Cole said you _attacked_ him. You tried to get out and you tried to take them down. You fought back.” 

Jakes brought the wrist to his lips, kissing it gently. “I know you, Endeavour Morse. You would fight a paperclip on principle.” Morse gave him a half-hearted grin. “There were _four_ of them, Dev. Each of them outweighed you. And they all had weapons. Not to mention you’d been _stabbed_ for God’s sake.” 

Jakes brushed his hand over Morse’s shoulder, cautious fingers ghosting over the healing wound. “Twice. You’d been stabbed _twice._ When I...when I saw that picture...I wanted to tear them to bits, Dev.” Jakes stared at Morse for a long moment. “I was so afraid,” he finally whispered. “So afraid of losing you.” Jakes kissed Morse, tender and chaste.

“And then...at the end. When Cole ...when Cole had me. You...you bloody idiot… _you called him over._ What the hell you were going to do, I don’t know. But you--half dead, Dev. You were _dying._ But you got him away from me. You think you’re weak? My God, Endeavour.” His fingers wandered over Morse’s face, reminding himself of the curves and angles that he loved so well. 

“You asked me what good are you?” Jakes searched Morse’s face, eyes lingering on fading bruises. “Don’t you remember?” Jakes closed his eyes, trying to fight off the memoirs of that night, years ago now. “You saved me, Dev. You saved me from myself. Did you forget...that night? When you found me? After...after you got out...after Blenheim Vale.” Jakes jaw worked furiously, trying to rid himself of the tightness in his throat. “If you hadn’t been there...Dev, I wouldn’t be _here._ ”

“If you remember nothing else, Endeavour Morse, remember that.” Jakes rested a hand on the side of Morse’s face, turning the younger man to face him. “You...God, Dev, you’ve done more for me than anyone. You’ve _cared_ for me in a way no one ever has. You’ve loved me more than anyone, Dev. I never thought I would find someone who would stick with me.”

Jakes wrapped his fingers around Morse’s ring. “Whatever they said, whatever...whatever you can’t get out of your head...remember this, Dev. Remember _us._ ” Jakes dipped his head, seeking Morse’s lips. 

“If you remember nothing else, Endeavour Morse,” Jakes murmured against Morse’s skin. “Remember that I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a lot of tears...oh well.
> 
> So, time for a Reader Poll. I'm working on a story for these two from near the beginning of their relationship. I'm trying to decide whether to pay attention to timelines and post it once i get some more prequels done, or if i should throw timelines to the wind and post it once its done?
> 
> I'll give you a teaser...it's...it's....it's a "first time" fic. That's right, lads, I am trying my hand at some Smut With Feelings. (it kind of kidnapped me, not gonna lie)
> 
> Anyhow, thanks for your patience and sorry for the wait!!
> 
> \--P.S. The next chapter is written and should be up later this evening!


	8. The Ice is Slowly Melting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Fancy gets to baby-sit his hero, Endeavour Morse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! :)

The day that George  Fancy came to visit, Jakes knew that Thursday was conspiring against him. Morse’s nightmares had diminished, he was able to sleep through most of the night. He had become less skittish around the nurses and doctors, mostly allowing them to approach him without Jakes being right next to him. He had even allowed Jakes to wander out to collect tea for them a few times.

But despite Morse’s steady healing, Jakes wouldn’t leave him for long periods of time. He only went for tea when the nurses practically forced him out, and he rushed back as quickly as possible. Thursday had been hinting that Jakes should run back to their flat; he hadn’t left the hospital since Morse had been admitted, despite having been “discharged” two days ago. His arm was still in a sling, but it had healed nicely so far.

Jakes refused to leave.

He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but he was afraid. Afraid that if he left Morse, someone would steal Morse away from him. Afraid that Morse would panic in his absence. Afraid that Morse’s injuries would worsen while he was gone. Afraid that he would return to find Morse pale and still in the bed, a white sheet pulled over his face.

Jakes wouldn’t admit to the nightmares that still plagued his sleep. The images of Morse’s broken body, cold and alone on a bloodies floor. The way he could smell burning wood and flesh when he woke up. 

He didn’t want to return to find himself alone in the world once again.

But somehow, Thursday had planned this whole thing. To get Fancy to come “keep Morse company” while Thursday took Jakes home. Win had some things for them, that they could pick up. And wouldn’t Morse like a change of clothes? Jakes could even take a shower while he was out. Just a few hours, come along now.

Jakes found himself bustled out of the hospital before he even knew what was happening. He tried not to panic. He did his best not to rush through his flat, haphazardly throwing things into a bag. He pretended not to be anxious as Win loaded him down with some soup and cookies. He _did not_  run up the stairs, back to their room.

He most certainly was not holding his breath as he peered around the door to their room. And he did not almost faint at the sight of his Morse, propped up in bed, looking mildly irritated as George Fancy rattled on.

* * *

Morse wasn’t entirely sure why they had left him with Fancy, of all people. He knew quite well what Thursday was up to, and frankly, it was about time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Jakes--didn’t _need_ Jakes with him. He did. Watching Jakes walk out that door had terrified him. The man had been there for Morse, with soothing words and gentle fingers, each time the memories came back. Jakes had held him when he cried, grounded him when he felt as if he would fly apart from the emotions whirling within him. Jakes hadn’t judged Morse when his insecurities threatened to drown him in darkness. 

But Morse could see what Jakes was hiding. He could see the fear lurking in Jakes’ eyes. He could see the way Jakes’ hands shook when he returned with tea, the way his shoulders sagged in relief that Morse was still there. He knew that Jakes clung to Morse just as much for his own comfort as to keep Morse calm.

Morse was grateful for Jakes’ transparency, though he wasn’t sure that Jakes _meant_ to show as much of his heart as he did. Morse took comfort in Jakes’ fear. It meant that he wasn’t alone, he wasn’t the only one stuck with nightmares. He had never been good with his emotions. He kept them locked inside where no one could find them; where no one could use them against him. Gwen had taunted him, when he was younger. His father, well, Morse didn’t care to remember what his father had done when he’d found him crying. Jakes offered him a shoulder to cry on and a level of concern that was still alien to Morse, even after all this time.

But they had to go back to work some day. They had to be able to pack this away--the fear, the worries, the desperation--and soldier on. Morse was used to it, living with a fear that never really went away. But he wasn’t sure about Jakes. Jakes had...they had make Jakes watch, and Morse could see what it had done to him. Sometimes he wasn’t sure why, but he knew Jakes’ greatest fear was losing Morse. He had heard the agony in Jakes’ voice when...when Cole had tried to kill him. He could see the way Jakes hovered when anyone else was in the room, the watchful glares he bestowed upon the nurses.

He knew Jakes needed to walk away. Even for a little. He needed to know that Morse would still be there when he returned.

And Morse knew he needed to be on his own for a bit. Even if it felt like it would kill him.

But why had they left him with _Fancy_? Morse would admit--grudgingly, and only to Jakes--that he’d grown rather fond of the kid. He showed promise, if he could stop being so reckless. And if he would just _slow down_  for once. Fancy had an unnerving supply of energy coupled with a deplorable lack of social etiquette. He reminded Morse of a Jack-in-the-box; you never quite knew when that energy would explode, or what the result would be.

Thursday had left Fancy in Morse’s room, practically shoving Jakes out before either of them could really process what was happening. At least he’d left Fancy with a book of Housman. Morse wasn’t sure if he could keep up with Fancy’s chatter, even if it was just one sided, for very long.

Fancy read for a while, and Morse was rather surprised to discover that the man had a knack for reciting poetry. His rhythm was perfect and his inflections not over done. Morse found himself enjoying the reading, his muscles relaxing in spite of Jakes’ absence. A few poems in, Morse became unable to keep his eyes open. He decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and drifted off to Fancy’s calm tones. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had slept, but when he awoke, the room was silent. For a horrible moment, Morse was afraid he was back in that house. Alone. Frightened.  _Abandoned._

Morse forced his eyes open, trying to control his fear. He was in the hospital. He was safe. He was with...Fancy?

Fancy, who was just… _staring_  at Morse. It made Morse more than a little uncomfortable, the way his youthful face was lit up. He looked as if he were a little boy who had just sat on Saint Nick’s lap, telling him what presents he wanted.

The expression on Fancy’s face distracted Morse from his panic. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to say, however. The poetry book lay on the edge of the bed, and Fancy made no move to retrieve it. Morse cleared his throat, trying to subtly snap Fancy out of his apparent trance.

He sighed when Fancy just smiled at him. The boy was going to give him a headache. Morse’s body still hurt far too much to deal with Fancy’s shenanigans, and he wasn’t quite up for hearing news from the nick just yet. There was just enough morphine still in his system to keep him from thinking clearly, but not enough to numb all the pain. Frankly, he could have done without the morphine at all, he hated not being able to think. When they had tried to lower it, however, Jakes couldn’t stand the stiff way that Morse held himself. Morse had relented.

Finally, Fancy managed to say something. Although it wasn’t quite what Morse was expecting.

“Sir, I wanted to ask…” he chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “A _tiger_?”

It took Morse a few seconds to figure out what Fancy was talking about. Crevecoeur **.** He nodded, rather confused as to how Fancy knew about that. It had been well before he’d joined up.

“D.I. Thursday told me, when we were coming to get you,” Fancy gushed. “Said you never gave up, even when you were facing a down a tiger. Said you were the stubbornest bastard he knew.” Morse winced at Fancy’s grammar, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Not when Fancy just...kept going. “You’re amazing, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

 _Not that I’d have the chance to mind,_  Morse thought. The kid could certainly talk.

“I heard the story of how you chased a madman through the Bodleian. And then climbed a  _wall_ to get to him. And figured out all his puzzles. I’d have been scared _stiff_ , sir.” Fancy shook his head, his eyes wide with child-like awe. “And then you jumped in front of a tiger. A _tiger!_  Not just any old murderer but a tiger!”

Morse raised an eyebrow at Fancy. “It sounds more impressive than it was.”

Fancy shook his head. “I doubt it. You stood down a tiger. And then...I heard about what happened with the Matthew’s last time, sir. At the bank? I wish I were as brave as you, sir. Jumping in front of a bullet for Miss Thursday.” 

The look Fancy gave him made Morse decidedly uncomfortable. The lad was staring at him as if he were a hero. Him, Endeavour Morse--who failed out of university and couldn’t make bloody sergeant without royal intervention. He was no one’s hero. He wasn’t even sure he deserved the credit that Jakes gave him.

“I didn’t...I wasn’t trying to be brave,” Morse murmured quietly. “I didn’t really even think. I just...did what needed to be done.” He shrugged one shoulder, hoping that either Fancy would change the subject, or Jakes would get back.

“That’s what I mean, sir. I can never see things like that. I’m just fumbling around, trying to spot something worthwhile to point out.” Fancy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You spot the smallest things, you can read people. You know things, sir. I love watching you work. I know I talk too much sometimes, but...you’re amazing.”

Morse could feel his face growing red. He glanced down at his hands, rather wishing he could pick up a pencil and work on a crossword. Probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate but at least it would get Fancy to be quiet.

Fancy followed his gaze. He made a sympathetic noise, followed by a whispered “I’m sorry, sir.”

Morse’s head snapped up. “Sorry? What are you sorry for, Fancy? I’m the one that got myself in trouble, aren’t I?”

Fancy shook his head, undaunted by Morse’s sharp tone. “Sorry that we didn’t get to you sooner. They had a car, one of ours. I...I couldn’t radio your position. Strange and I, we had to go back to the station to get the others.” Fancy stared at his hands, throat working nervously. “I wanted to go in after Sergeant Jakes. Didn’t want to leave you two there. But...I was afraid.” He glanced up at Morse, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I was afraid...if I came in after him, they might...just kill you anyhow.”

Morse huffed, trying--and failing--to sit upright. He fell backwards with a whimper as the movement pulled on his ribs. Fancy leapt forward, eager hands propping a few pillows behind Morse’s back. Morse submitted, rather ungraciously, to the constable’s ministrations. Once they were settled again, Morse turned to Fancy.

“George Fancy, if you had come in after us they would have killed _you._ ” Morse glared at him as sternly as he could manage. “If there’s something you need to learn its not to rush headlong into things. You’ll only end up injured or worse. You always wait for backup. Do you understand me?”

Fancy blinked, eyes wide. He nodded nervously. “Yes...yes, sir. I just...I thought if I had gotten there earlier, maybe…” Fancy ducked his head, nodding towards Morse’s hands. “Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt so badly.”

Morse sighed, his anger deflating. The idiot actually felt guilty. As if he were responsible for the repercussions of enemies Morse had made before the kid was even out of short pants. 

“George, listen.” Morse stared at Fancy, trying to find the right words. “What happened, it wasn’t your fault. They would have killed all of us if they’d seen you. You and Strange, you did the right thing.” Morse took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tears that had crept up on him. “Thank you. Both of you.” He offered Fancy a smile, and was nearly blinded by the grin that Fancy gave him.

“It was an honor, sir,” Fancy said, practically beaming. “We couldn’t let them win. Sergeant Jakes said it right, you’re ours and they couldn’t have you.” 

It wasn’t a particularly well-crafted sentiment, but something in the way Fancy said it--as if it were a truth he was willing to die for--broke through the fog that surrounded Morse. 

 _You’re ours._ As if he belonged. As if the old “city boys” weren’t ashamed to claim him. As if it had been something deeper than just duty that prompted the renegade rescue. As if maybe, just maybe, he had found a place to call home.

Morse swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes closing against tears.

“Sir?” Fancy prompted softly. “I’m sorry, sir, am I talking too much?”

Morse managed a small smile and glanced up at the boy. He shook his head. No, maybe the lad wasn’t talking too much. Maybe Morse needed to hear what it was the cocky idiot had to say.

“No, it’s...it’s alright. It’s just…” Morse shook his head, unsure of what he was supposed to say.

“It’s okay, sir. You’ve been through a lot.” Fancy stared at him for a moment, looking like he wanted to say more. “If...if I may, sir. I just wanted to say that I...I really admire you. You’ve gone through a lot. They say your heart stopped three times. You’re...you’re amazing. I don’t know how you keep going, sir. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Morse closed his eyes, unable to stop the emotions that threatened to spill over. _Where was Jakes?_ He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Fancy. Not now. 

The soft swish of the room’s door opening made Morse jump. It was Jakes. _Thank goodness._

“Alright, Fancy, that’s enough,” Jakes strode over to Morse’s bed. His tone was teasing, but Morse didn’t miss the tension in his eyes. One thin hand sought out Morse’s bandaged one, and Jakes’ eyes roved Morse’s body as if checking to more injuries. Satisfied that Morse was still alive, he glanced up at Fancy. “He’s taken, I’m afraid.”

Fancy turned bright red. “No, oh, no sir. I just…”

Jakes grinned. “It’s alright, kid.” He sobered. His thumb rubbed circles on Morse’s hand. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Fancy jumped up, looking as if he wanted to bolt. “I...you’re welcome. I’d....I’d better be going. Goodbye, Morse. Jakes.” He gave them each a short nod before practically running from the room.

Morse glanced up at Jakes. “Thanks for rescuing--mmph! Peter!”

Jakes had dropped to his knees, one hand running through Morse’s hair while he held the other tightly to his chest. He dropped a kiss to Morse’s lips before pulling back. His dark eyes were worried.

“You’re okay? Morse? You’re...you’re okay, right?”

“Peter, I’m fine.” Morse smiled at the frantic expression on Jakes’ face. “I nearly died from embarrassment, but otherwise I’m fine. Really.”

Jakes barely listened, one hand roaming Morse’s face and shoulders. Morse wriggled his fingers, trying to escape the rather crushing grip that Jakes had him trapped in. 

“Peter!” Morse growled. “I’m fine.”

Jakes finally paused, his frantic eyes settling on Morse’s face. He sucked in a deep breath, one finger tracing the side of Morse’s face. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re still here.”

Morse rolled his eyes. With a huff, he wrapped his free hand around the nape of Jakes’ neck, pulling Jakes towards him and into a kiss. Jakes finally pulled back, resting his forehead on Morse’s.

“I’m sorry, Dev,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, Peter. It’s alright. I’m alright.” Morse dipped his head so that he could look Jakes in the eye. “We’re okay. Both of us.”

Jakes closed his eyes and nodded. “I don’t want to let you go, Dev.”

Morse rubbed his thumb across Jakes’ neck. “You don’t have to, not today.” He surged up, kissing Jakes gently. “Maybe tomorrow, but not today.”

Jakes sighed, melting into Morse. “I’ve got some things from home. I should unpack.” He pressed his face into Morse’s neck, breathing deeply.  

Morse let his hand drift down to Jakes’ back, rubbing slowly across the older man’s shoulders. “Later, Peter. Later.”

Jakes pulled away, searching Morse’s face. 

“Just hold me, for a while,” Morse whispered. “Please.”

Jakes nodded. He slipped his shoes off before curling his body gently around Morse. Jakes sleek head tucked into Morse’s neck, one hand coming to rest on Morse’s heart. His fingers tapped gently on Morse’s chest.

“You’re still here,” Jakes whispered, almost to himself. 

Morse hummed, turning his head to leave a kiss on Jakes’ forehead. “Can’t really go far yet.”

Jakes growled and kissed Morse’s neck. “Not what I meant.”

“I know, Peter.” Morse closed his eyes as he rested his chin on Jakes’ head. “I know.”

They lay there in silence, listening to one another’s heartbeats, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of one another’s breathing. After a while, when Jakes’ panic had subsided and Morse’s grip on his back had eased up, Jakes turned his head to rest on Morse’s chest.

“He was right, you know,” Jakes mused.

“Hmm?”

“Fancy. He was right.” Jakes pushed up, eyes roving Morse’s face. “You’re the strongest person I know, Dev. Don’t argue.” Jakes hushed Morse with a kiss. “You are.”

Morse stared at Jakes. “Peter…”

“I mean it, Dev,” Jakes murmured. He buried his fingers in Morse’s curls, rubbing gentle circles on Morse’s scalp. “You never give up.” Jakes stilled, his eyes darkening. “Promise me, Dev. That you’ll never give up.”

Morse nodded. His eyes searched Jakes’ face. “I’ve never...I’ve never had something to keep going for. Till you.”

Jakes kissed him tenderly. “Just don’t leave me. Don’t...don’t doubt how much I love you, Dev.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much longer do we have of this story? Honestly, no clue. I've got about three more chapters planned, but knowing me, that could turn into another 12. We'll see...
> 
> Plus, I keep getting distracted with More Angst. And a burning desire to start the prequels....*hums happily*
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for commenting. I love you all and I love hearing from you <3


	9. It Was Not Your Fault (But Mine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse gets a little tired of "Guard Dog Jakes". Thursday gives some advice. Morse cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!
> 
> So sorry for the wait. Fred Thursday was being difficult and refusing to say what he needed to say. I left him alone in time out for a while and promptly started roughly 7 other stories in this universe. *sigh*
> 
> Hopefully, it's worth the wait. 
> 
> Many, many, many thanks to guardianoffun who never fails to break through my writer's block. :)

“At any rate, that’s what the gov’nor thinks.” Jakes paused, one hand on the door to Morse’s room, as Strange’s voice reached him. “What’s your take?” 

A case. He was asking Morse about a bloody _case_. Jakes sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration that bubbled up inside him. 

Morse was finally allowed out of bed for (very short) walks around the room. He had graduated to being able to (mostly) feed himself in the last day or so, and had been permitted more than one visitor per day (Jakes didn’t count, per Nurse Howard). And Strange, the blasted imbecile, decided to use that opportunity to ask Morse’s opinion on _a case_.

Jakes shoved the door open, wincing as it slammed shut behind him. Morse jumped, panic flaring in his eyes before he recognized Jakes.  Strange glanced up lazily, with a friendly nod. Clearly, he couldn’t see the anger in Jakes’ stride. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jim?” Jakes spat, coming to stand next to Morse. Unconsciously, one hand sought Morse’s, Jakes’ long fingers wrapping around that slender wrist. His thumb rubbed gently across the back of Morse’s hand. He’d been able to stand leaving Morse for short periods of time, but still had to convince himself of Morse’s wellbeing upon returning.

Morse’s welcoming smile faded into confusion. “Peter? What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Morse, you’ve only just been cleared to have visitors. You’re in no shape to start doling out opinions on _other people’s_ cases.” He glared at Strange.

“Hey, it’s alright, matey.”  Strange raised one hand in apology. “I wasn’t asking for his opinion. Just telling him some of the--”

“You know how he is,” Jakes interrupted, trying his best not to loom over the two of them. “You give him an idea and he’ll start turning it around.” Jakes glanced down at Morse, his fingers tightening protectively around Morse’s arm. “He’s had one hell of a concussion. He doesn’t need to be solving cases for you.”

Morse opened his mouth to respond, but Strange beat him to it.

“Come off it, Jakes.” Strange stood, an expression of mild affront on his face. It was the closest he came to outright anger. “Two mates are allowed to chat about work. You don’t have to come in here raring for a fight.”

“They aren’t if one of them was beaten to a bloody pulp recently.” Jakes growled. He tried to ignore the slight wobble in his voice. He was fine, perfectly fine. Nightmares notwithstanding. “And it’s not as if he’s going to tell you to shove off. Someone has to look out for him.”

“Peter!” Morse’s voice sliced through the tension that was growing thickly between the two men. “I’m _right here_ and I think I’m capable of speaking for myself.”

Jakes scoffed, glaring down at Morse. “Right, like you’re going to actually tell him to leave? You’ll work yourself into a fever if left alone.”

Morse’s eyes widened. “ _Peter Jakes_.” His voice slithered like a snake, but was as sharp as a sword.

Strange glanced between the two of them and slowly started backing away. Morse and Jakes had certainly come _quite_ a long way from their early feuds, but their arguments could still rattle walls. He never quite understood the two of them; it seemed as if their constant bickering was some strange way of showing affection. Whatever it was, the look in Morse’s eye said this was going to be one hell of a fight. And he had no intention of getting in the middle of it.

Strange slipped quietly out the door. He would have said goodbye. But Morse just kept right on at Jakes, clearly oblivious to anything else at the moment.

“I think I’m more able to decide what I do and don’t need at the moment, considering I’m the one who was injured.”

Jakes glared at Morse. “I highly doubt that. You’ve never made that decision in the past. You just keep right on, past normal sleeping and eating hours until I find you half dead on your bloody desk.”

“What is it with you and bringing up everything wrong I’ve done in the past?” Morse struggled to push himself up, wincing as the motion pulled at healing muscles and bone. “Can’t you let anything go?”

“Pot, kettle.” Jakes huffed, crossing his arms. “And don’t change the subject.” Jakes moved away from the edge of the bed, pacing. “Dammit, Morse, you nearly _died_. A concussion is nothing to mess around with. Let the boys solve their own bloody cases for once. No need to go showing them all up while your still in _hospital_.”

“Oh, so this is all about my supposed ego, is it then?” Morse spat. “I’m bored to death in here and--”

“Don’t _say_ that.” Jakes spun around, glaring at Morse. “Don’t.”

“Seriously? Peter, it’s a bloody figure of speech.” Morse rolled his eyes. “Stop being dramatic, for--”

“Dramatic?” Jakes froze. “You _dare_ to call me dramatic? Goddammit, Endeavour.” Jakes strode towards Morse’s bed, oblivious to the slight flinch Morse gave in response to the sudden movement. “You have no idea what this has been like for me. Don’t you dare try to--”

“For _you?_ ” Morse shoved himself up farther in the bed. “Peter, I’m the one who can barely get out of this damn bed. I’m stuck here with my own fucking nightmares, trapped in my own head. I’m _sorry_...”--he sounded anything but-- “if I wanted a bloody distraction.”

Jakes stared at him as if he’d been slapped. “My God, Dev. Do you think I don’t have nightmares of my own?”

“That’s not the fucking point!” Morse winced at the way the words scraped across his throat. “The point is _you_ trying to tell me how to live. You can’t just--”

“Oh, right. Because you do such a great job of figuring that out on your own.” Jakes stalked to the window. “You’re a bloody disaster, Morse and you know it. You don’t know the first thing about taking care of yourself. You’ll run yourself right back into the ground if I don’t stop you.”

“For the love of--” Morse ran his hand through his hair--or at least he tried. He gave up with a disgusted growl and glared at the splints on his fingers. “It’s not your _job_ , Peter!”

“Someone has to do it,” Jakes shouted, spinning around. “Someone has to make sure you don’t end up fucking _dead_ just because you forgot that beer wasn’t actual food. Someone has to--”

“Am I interrupting?” Fred Thursday’s voice startled both men. He had managed to sneak into the room unnoticed by both of them. Thursday glanced between the two of them, trying to decipher the bits of the argument he had caught.

Both men glared at each other; neither seemed willing to give an inch.

Finally Jakes broke the glare. He spun on his heel and stalked towards the door.

“See what you can do with him,” Jakes growled. He pushed past Thursday. “I give up.”

Thursday stared at the door which slammed in Jakes’ wake. He turned back towards Morse with a look of mild confusion on his face. These types of fights weren’t out of the ordinary for the two of them, but this one came strangely close to the trauma of nearly losing Morse. Thursday was slightly afraid that Jakes had gone too far, provoking Morse this soon.

Morse glared at the door. “Strange came by. He was telling me about his cases, and Peter thought he had the right to tell Strange off.” Morse scoffed, flopping rather ungracefully into his pillows. “As if I can’t handle myself. Prick.”

Thursday bit back a smile. Clearly, whatever argument had occurred had been well fought on both sides. It was good to see a spark of the old Morse again. He’d been far too quiet lately, cooperative and meek. If he was up to sparring with Jakes, he might truly be on the road to recovery. 

As Thursday moved around the room, unpacking the hamper of food that Win had sent, he noticed Morse staring at the door that Jakes had slammed through, a mixture of frustration and confusion painted his face. Thursday absentmindedly folded Jakes’ discarded sweater--setting it down hastily when he realized what he was doing-- and mulled over what precisely he was supposed to say. Light gossip he could do, and even a few notes from recent cases (Jakes’ overprotectiveness notwithstanding) wouldn’t go amiss. But Morse looked troubled. Thursday had learned the hard way over the years that ignoring that particular look on Endeavour Morse’s face usually lead to some sort of disaster. Besides, he had a few things he wanted to say to the lad, and he was afraid if he stuck to the usual topics, he might lose his nerve.

“Do you want to talk about it, lad?” Thursday ventured. “Whatever it was you were fighting about?”

Morse stared at Thursday for a long moment. Then he sighed and--to Thursday’s surprise--nodded. At the DI’s shocked expression, Morse gave him a lopsided grin. 

“Peter won’t let me get away with...keeping things quiet.” Morse shrugged. “I guess I’ve rather gotten used to it now.”

Thursday made a mental note to buy Jakes a bottle of whatever he liked best the next time he was out. How exactly Jakes had managed Morse these past years was beyond him, but he was eternally grateful. There had been times when Thursday had feared what Morse might become, that his future might be filled with empty whiskey bottles and dusty records. But somewhere along the line, this unlikely partnership had softened the rough edges of both men, and Thursday was fairly certain it had saved both of them from an early grave.

Thursday pulled a chair to the side of Morse’s bed. After fixing the pillows behind Morse, he sat down and nodded at his bagman.

“What’s troubling you, then?”

Morse glanced down at the blanket, picking at it awkwardly. Thursday felt a hot curl of anger rise within him as he took stock of those splinted, slender fingers. It was well the entire gang was already beyond his reach.

“It’s just...Peter’s been so...protective.” Morse glanced up at Thursday, clearly struggling with his old tendencies of reticence. “He hovers over the bloody doctors, and it’s a miracle they haven’t figured out what we are yet.” Morse shrugged. “He barely lets them near me, and every time he comes back from somewhere, it’s like he has to check to make sure I didn’t break. I’m not _fragile_.” 

Morse hissed the last word disdainfully, a flash of his old arrogance sparking in his eyes. Thursday had to bite his tongue; the lad looked far more fragile than any of them would have liked. His pale skin was still littered with the remnants of healing bruises. His chest was criss-crossed with bandages, which had shrunk in size and not number. A heavy plaster cast still encased his shattered forearm, and several fingers were still splinted and swollen. His voice still grated when he talked, and Thursday knew they were all worried about his voice. 

Morse sighed and continued. “Just now, I thought he was going to actually throw Strange out. He towered over both of us, like he was a blasted guard dog or something.” Morse waved his hands in frustration. “I know I can get carried away, but I’m nearly going mad in here. I can’t bloody do anything.” He glared at his fingers. “Can’t hold a damn pen,” he muttered.

“Morse, lad...” Thursday paused. He’d never been much good at this comfort gig, it was more Win’s area. He would come in and set the kids straight, when they’d wandered, after Win had patched them up and dried their tears. But Win wasn’t here right now. And he knew what he needed to say. He just had to find the right words.

“Everyone is treating me the same way, sir. Even you, if you don’t mind me saying.” Morse frowned. “I don’t understand. I’m still here. Why is everyone acting so…” He shrugged. “Strange.”

Thursday took a deep breath. His fingers fiddled with his pipe. How he wished he could smoke it, take comfort in that simple gesture; but the nurses would have his hide if he tried.

“Morse,” Thursday met Morse’s eyes. “Lad, you almost died. When I got you out, your heart stopped right there.” Thursday turned his eyes back to his hands. He couldn’t look at Morse--he would only see that deadly pale, still face. The one that haunted his dreams each night. “DeBryn only barely managed to bring you back. You were in a coma. No one really knew if you would come back to us.” Thursday shook his head. “ Or what state you would be if you did. They said...they said you might not be the same. That the lack of oxygen might have…” He trailed off, cursing the lump that was cutting off his words.

When he glanced back at Morse, his face was a mixture of pain and sorrow. Thursday barely contained a frustrated huff; he knew the apologies were coming.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Morse glanced at his hands. “I hadn’t wanted...I asked Jakes, before...before it all started…to make sure you didn’t know. What they did. Because of Carter. I didn’t want you to have to know.”

Thursday closed his eyes. “For God’s sake Morse, don’t apologize. None of this was your fault.”

“I don’t mean to…” Morse heaved a frustrated sigh. “I don’t mean to make everyone like this. It...it could have been worse. Really.”

Thursday’s head shot up. “Don’t you _dare_ say that, Endeavour Morse.” Morse’s eyes narrowed at his name. “The only way this whole thing could have ended up worse is if you had...if you had... _died.”_ Thursday stood from his chair, pacing a bit. He shouldn’t shout, shouldn’t let himself get this riled up. But...but it was _Morse_ . “Ask any of them, Strange, George, Shirley. They’ve all been on tenterhooks waiting. It was _bad enough_.”

Morse was watching him with wide eyes. “I just...I don’t understand why everyone was so worried.” He shrugged. “It was just me they had.” 

And there it was. That cursed sliver of self-hatred that defined Morse’s existence. Thursday had seen it when he had first met the lad. He knew it was always lying just under the surface of Morse’s exaggerated confidence. He knew it was the voice that drove Morse towards the whisky bottle. It had seemed to shrink over the last year, sometimes buried almost completely; he supposed Jakes had something to do with that. But it was still there. And it was clearly the root of this entire conversation.

After all this time, Morse couldn’t understand why anyone would be worried about him. 

Thursday sat heavily in his chair and forced himself to meet Morse’s curious stare.

“Lad, you’re one of us. You always have been, really.” He took a deep breath. He knew what he needed to say. He could say it, he _would_ say it. “I know...I know I’ve not always done right by you. Hell, the whole nick’s been against you half the time. But when it comes down to it…” Thursday swiped a hand over his face. God, but he hated these conversations. Knew they had to be said, but hated them all the same. 

“You have people that care about you, Morse. The Fancys, Mr. Bright, Jim. Christ, you should have seen DeBryn’s face when I brought you out. And Jakes...Morse, Jakes fought tooth and nail to get to you, every step of the way.” Thursday sighed. “And me, lad. I’ve failed you, many times over. But when I knew they took you... you’re part of my family, Morse. Have been for some time, and I don’t know that I’ve ever told you.” Thursday tentatively laid his hand on Morse’s. “You’re not alone anymore. And if we all treat you like glass...well...Morse, we came so close to losing you.”

Morse stared at him, his eyes wide. He had gone completely still His eyes traveled slowly to where their hands were touching. 

“I...sir, I’m...I didn’t…” Morse stumbled over the words, his voice low and thick with emotion.

“And Morse, one more thing.” Thursday had to finish this. He had to make it clear to Morse what he meant. Morse wasn’t a replacement for something he’d lost long ago. He hadn’t gone into that house for absolution. He hadn’t spent those hours mourning a _once again_. He had spent those hours mourning _Morse_ . He had gone after _Morse_ . Morse was _Morse_ and it was for his sake only that Thursday had sat up nights staring into an empty whiskey glass.

Thursday allowed his hand to squeeze a little tighter on Morse’s hand. “This isn’t about Carter. It’s not...it’s not about a ghost from my past, a wrong I couldn’t right.” Thursday ignores the way his voice cracks. It doesn’t matter; he should have said this years ago. “I went into...I walked into that house because of you. Because I had to find you. I’m here, now, because you…” Thursday swallowed hard. “Because you’re as much a part...of my family as Sam is. Or Joan. You’re one of ours, Win’s and mine.” 

Morse made an odd choking sound as his hand slipped from Thursday’s grasp. Alarmed, Thursday glanced up to see Morse burying his face in both of his hands.

“Morse? Lad? What’s wrong?” He stood abruptly, hands hovering above Morse.

Morse’s shoulders hunched inward, and the small, shuddering gasp that escaped his lips told Thursday what was wrong. He was crying. Damn it, he’d made the lad cry.

“I’m...I’m sorry...s-sir...I just...It’s…”

“It’s alright, lad. It’s alright,” Thursday soothed. He stood awkwardly next to Morse for a few seconds longer before coming to a decision. He’d meant what he said, that Morse was one of his. If it were Sam, in that bed before him, Thursday knew what he would do.

Gingerly, Thursday sat down on the bed and wrapped an arm around Morse’s shoulder. Morse stiffened for a moment, shocked eyes peeking out from his hands.

“S-sir?” he whispered.

“Fred, Morse. I think you’ve earned that at least.” Thursday tightened his grip on Morse. “It’s alright. You’ve been through too much. Just...let it come, Morse. It’s alright.”

Morse stared at him for a long moment. Then he took another shaky breath and collapsed into Thursday.

They stayed like that until Morse’s sobs had dissolved into even breaths. Thursday held Morse until his own heart started to heal--from the past week and from the guilt he had held for the wrongs he’d done Morse in the past. As the minutes ticked by, a Detective Inspector and his bagman slowly but surely broke down the barriers between them. By the time Thursday got up to leave, they had become, at long last, a father and his surrogate son.

* * *

 

By the time Jakes returned, Morse had calmed. Thursday had left a while earlier, after ensuring that Morse ate some of Win’s soup (and that he was stable enough to leave alone for a while). Morse sat, propped up on a mountain of pillows, staring petulantly at an open book on his lap, when Jakes peered into the room.

As if sensing Jakes’ presence, Morse’s eyes flashed up to the door. Jakes flinched when he saw the redness that surrounded Morse’s blue eyes. He sighed and gently pushed the door open. He shouldn’t have left like that, angry words the last thing that Morse had heard from him. It wasn’t as if the row was unprecedented, or anywhere near their worst. But he had left Morse there, still recovering, and not knowing how glad Jakes was that he had mustered enough strength to fight back.

Morse stared at him cautiously as Jakes crossed the floor. Neither one of them spoke as Jakes tugged off his jacket and shoes. Jakes walked to the bed and laid his hand over Morse’s. He let it rest there, gentle and undemanding. 

Thursday had met him in the hall, told him that Morse was feeling cooped up, corralled, and coddled. It wasn’t that any of them had done anything wrong, but Morse deserved to be allowed to heal at his own pace. He deserved to be trusted again. He deserved to be declared free of their expectation.

So Jakes let his hand smooth over Morse’s arm the way he used to caress his lover. Soft and tender, his fingers exploring the skin reverently. He leaned down to steal a kiss from Morse’s lips, letting desire trickle through the protectiveness that still raged within him.

He was rewarded with a soft moan as Morse leaned into the kiss.

“I missed you,” Jakes murmured against Morse’s skin. He nuzzled into Morse’s hair, letting the tension bleed out of his body as he pressed another kiss to Morse’s temple.

Morse whimpered slightly, pressing himself into Jakes’ side. “I’m sorry, Peter.”  
“Don’t,” Jakes whispered, sliding onto the bed and drawing Morse close to him. One hand drifted to rest on Morse’s cheek. “Don’t say your sorry. Not this time.”

Morse’s eyes widened. Fear bloomed in his eyes as he took Jakes words to mean “the end”. “No, Peter, but I am sorry, I--”

Jakes silenced him with a gentle kiss. “It’s alright, Dev.” He smiled at Morse, stroking the side of Morse’s face with his thumb. “It’s alright.”

Morse shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “No, I shouldn’t have. I know...I know you’re just trying to look out for me. I know. I just…” His hands flopped uselessly on the bed. “I can’t...I can’t do _anything_ and--”

“Morse.” Jakes tapped gently on the side of Morse’s face, drawing his focus back. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have nagged you. I get...I’m still scared, Dev.” He took a deep breath. “But...seeing you ready to fight, hearing you snap back at me...it was beautiful. And I didn’t realize until I’d left.”

Morse’s eyebrows drew together. “Peter? What…”

“You. You haven’t been yourself. And then you came back to me, there. You fought back. Just like...just like you always have.” Jakes gave Morse a radiant smile. “Just like none of this ever happened. And I know...I know it did. It’s left us with our scars but...you’re still in there. You’re still _you_.”

Morse huffed. He rested his head back on the pillow. “You’re daft, Peter Jakes.” A small smile tempered the sting of his words, and one hand drifted up to caress Jakes’ face. 

Jakes captured the wandering hand in his. “Maybe. Maybe I just don’t know how to say it.” He kissed Morse’s hand. “But I don’t want you to apologize for...for being you. For being _alive_. For being…” Jakes sucked in a sharp breath, clutching Morse’s hand a little tighter as memories of solemn doctor’s faces came back to him. “They lost you three times, Dev. The last time...they almost gave up.” 

Jakes pressed his lips against Morse’s knuckles. “They told us, when they got you back, that there might be...damage. That you might not be the same. And then with...with everything that was said.” He took a shuddering breath. “I just...I was glad to see the fight back in your eyes.”

Morse stared at Jakes for a moment. “Thursday said...I guess I hadn’t realized.” He shrugged, avoiding Jakes’ eyes. “What it was like. To be...waiting.” Abruptly, Morse sought Jakes’ eyes. “If it had been you...I don’t know...I don’t know what I would have done. I shouldn’t have been so--”

“Stop it.” Jakes pressed a finger to Morse’s lips. “It’s alright. It’s...oh, Dev.” Jakes’ shoulders slumped. “I don’t care. I honestly...I don’t care. You can...you can yell at me, curse me, throw me out of the damn room. You’re _breathing_ , Endeavour. God, that’s all I need.” Jakes brought one hand to Morse’s face. “Just knowing...knowing that every time you get mad at me, you’re one step closer to going home. One step...one step farther from that cursed house, one step farther from…” Jakes closed his eyes. “You’re still with me. That’s all I need.”

Morse nuzzled into Jakes’ hand. He pressed his lips tenderly to Jakes’ hand. “Home,” he murmured. “Peter?”

Jakes opened his eyes, glancing down at Morse. “Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Jakes absently traced Morse’s cheekbone with his thumb. “For what?”

“For giving me a home.”

Jakes stilled. Morse’s voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, something old and wounded creeping into his voice. His eyes were serious, but a small smile played at the edges of his lips.

“Dev?”

“Thank you for giving me a home. And this.” Morse closed his eyes and leaned into Jakes’ touch. “I never thought I could have this.” He kissed Jakes’ hand again. “I couldn’t...I know I’ve been, well, not the best patient. But I need you to know…” Morse’s eyes flickered rapidly over Jakes’ face. “I couldn’t do this. Not without you. Not without this. I would have given up, long before now.

And what, precisely, was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to quantify all the things that Morse had given him? The thousands of little moments scattered throughout their days...Morse with paint on his face, laughing at his poor “artistic skills”; Morse lecturing little Charlotte on the benefits of listening to Wagner; Morse fixing hot tea for Jakes when he was too weak with a fever to do it for himself; Morse’s gentle hands and quiet words when the nightmares still came late at night; Morse’s dazzling smile when he laughed--truly laughed--at something idiotic that Jakes had said; Morse’s unabashed pleasure in Jakes’ presence at their housewarming party.

How did he put that into words? How did he tell Morse that whatever he thought he had received, Jakes himself had received double?

He couldn’t, and he knew it. They were both poor wordsmiths. So Jakes did the only thing he really _was_ good at.

He cupped Morse’s face in both his hands, and he kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [ Lion Man ](https://youtu.be/znHtGpCAfGY) by Mumford and Sons. I didn't realize until about five minutes ago how much that song fits what Thursday is feeling and trying to say here. If you aren't familiar with the song, please go listen or look at the lyrics. It's such a Thursday to Morse song.
> 
> On another note, I need to learn to pick songs with more lyrics. This "little" comfort fic has gotten way out of hand and I'm running out of lyrics. *shrug*
> 
> I'm guessing three more chapters? But with me, who knows. :)
> 
> Comments are appreciated and feed the writer-brain. :) Thanks for reading, guys. I love you all <3
> 
> (also, I'm shit at re-reading and editing. If i try to edit, I'll never post anything. So...sorry for any errors.)

**Author's Note:**

> Morse is back! Not really in great shape, but he's back.
> 
> Comments and prompts are always welcome and encouraged. It's the end of the school year for me, and I. Am. Struggling. Majorly. Any and all comments are appreciated and tbh keep me going some days. Thanks for reading!! :)


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